


our shadows are ghosts that we grow attached to

by igniteyourbones



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Slow Burn, extremely slow burn the slowest burn you can imagine, oc and bucky dealing with their collective shit together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2018-12-06 09:19:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 62,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11597652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igniteyourbones/pseuds/igniteyourbones
Summary: There's something different in your head now, something dangerous. Unable to trust yourself or anyone around you, you find yourself with no other option than to take up Tony Stark's offer to stay at the Avengers Tower until you can figure out the mess inside you.You're not the only one.





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from sleeping at last's 'you are enough' which is 100% about bucky barnes, confirmed.

> "I can remember being nothing but fearless and young,  
>  we've become echoes, but echoes, they fade away."  
>  silhouette // aquilo

_There’s an alarm going off somewhere near you, a loud wailing sigh that ebbs and flows to drown out the rest of the noise. There’s smoke clouding what’s left of your hazy vision and try as you might, you can’t keep your head from slumping to one side. The cuffs around your wrists and ankles that keep you pinned upright chafe at your skin from previous fights but now you lie still; exhausted and broken. Forgotten in the chaos and so far from your own mind, you can do nothing but skate the edges of consciousness and hope – but for what? Rescue? Death? It all feels the same to you._

_The siren still cuts into your mind but you’re drifting now…_

_Voices scatter about your brain, distant and close, commands and screams, and you’ve lost track of what’s real and what’s delusion. Keeping your eyes open is impossible and so you let yourself go._

_The voices… the siren… the restraints holding you upright… an arm around your waist hoisting you up…_

_Then nothing at all._

*

It’s twenty past two in the morning and the Avengers tower is quiet. It’s not impossible to believe that somebody somewhere inside this place is awake, hell, probably several somebodies given the emotional state of half the occupants but the common room is dark and empty which is what you’d been hoping for. The lights flicker the moment you toe the room threshold, another startling reminder of the reality you’re living in now. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, politeness far outweighing how odd it feels to speak to a building. 

Pausing in the doorway, you sweep the room. Only once you’re certain it’s as empty as it appears, you move across the length of the room to dump the textbooks and laptop that had been stacked precariously against your chest down on the long glass table. 

The table is fixed alongside the large stretch of floor to ceiling glass windows that pinned an entire picture of Manhattan behind it. Regardless of the hour, cars still snaked around the sprawling streets and the city was still lit up with flashing lights. Your eye catches on a group of three staggering down the street, linked clumsily to one another. They’re tiny from your vantage point but you can make out one figure raising their arm, their head held back and their mouth open around a large smile to let out a yell that’s soundless to your ears. The common room was far too high up in the tower to grant you any of the sounds that would accompany the scene of an early morning trek home, one that felt faintly familiar but now somehow foreign. Turning away with the slightly bitter taste of nostalgia in your mouth, you pull out a seat and power up your laptop; building a fortress around you out of your textbooks as you wait.

Early morning isn’t exactly your time for productivity but over the last month, you’d learned to adapt. It’s been one month and two days since you’d moved into the Avengers tower and a month and twelve days since all this madness had started. You still tiptoe around this ridiculous mansion of a home, trying to keep to the shadows and yourself as much as you can. It’s not like you’re afraid of the people you now share a residence with – how could you be when they’ve been sold to you as protectors and heroes since you were young? It’s hard to believe that the man you’d watched declare himself as Iron Man on the news, who’s superhero alter ego graced the shirts, walls, and lunchboxes of every kid in your neighbourhood, is the same man who found you distraught and terrified and without a lot of options. 

An uncomfortable feeling settles in your stomach as you think about Tony Stark. How is this meant to work? You suppose he’s your handler now, in some strange way. A guardian or a baby sitter, bound by his duty to protect and what better way than to keep you close and controlled? Maybe it’s guilt that motivated his actions. It’s only been a month but already you knew it didn’t pay to try figure out Tony Stark; he seemed to be an enigma even to himself. 

The Tower couldn’t feel less like a home. It feels too weird, too strange, to see the Avengers doing anything other than save the world and to consider yourself a part of all this is absurd. To see Natasha Romanoff, who can kill a man with her thighs alone, rumpled and bleary eyed brewing herself a coffee or Bruce Banner who is occasionally large and green, asleep with his face planted in a book in the library or even seeing Captain America and The Falcon play fight over the remote feels wrong. A behind the scenes look you don’t feel you deserve or even asked for when it comes down to it. 

It’s easier to stay away. To remain in your room, sleeping through the waking hours and then roaming around the tower on your own time during the early morning quiet. Your new living space, which easily puts your dingy one bedroom flat to shame in both size and amenities, offers plenty in the way of comfort and entertainment. Yet after long hours of being kept inside and isolated, it still feels like a prison. You can’t help but acknowledge the tiny voice in your head that whispers you should be trying to become more amicable with your new company, to learn more about the people behind their superhero status but it’s too much, too fast. 

You’ll adjust, you know you will. You have to because this is your life now for the foreseeable future and as much as you’d rather it isn’t, you haven’t been given a say in the matter. 

A yawn sneaks up on you, one that you press into the back of your hand and blink as the blaring light from the laptop screen makes your eyes sting. Reaching for the closest textbook, you flick to the back to start searching through the index only to freeze when there’s a shuffling sound from behind you. Turning with enough force to drop the textbook from your hands, it clatters to the ground and has both yourself and the intruder flinching at the noise. 

He’s a shadow in the well-lit room, every muscle in his body coiled and ready to fight or flee depending on your next move. He has to be the one person more of a ghost than you – you’d seen him exactly once during your time here, leaving the gym flanked by Steve Rogers himself. Of course, you know about him. Who doesn’t know about the Winter Solider? 

You’d read about him during high school, girls swooning over the black and white photo of the war hero Sargent James Barnes in their history textbooks, and then again in the news when he returned as a weapon wielded by Hydra, the media branding him a monster sporting a bionic arm and missing memories spanning decades. His return to the compound is fresh, having been in Wakanda where he’d returned to cryo-freeze in the hopes they could figure out how to re-wire his brain. All you really know outside of all this is that he’s quiet and that even the cryo-freeze couldn’t resolve him of all the demons that seem to follow him without fail. 

You clear your throat, noticing he’s staying completely still in the doorway and watching you with a calculating expression. It occurs to you that the noise made to alert you to his presence had been for your own benefit, that he could’ve haunted the room without your knowing if he’d wanted to go unnoticed. 

“Sorry about that,” you say as you lean forward to pick up your textbook, not taking your eyes off him. He does the same, his eyes flicking only momentarily down to your hand then back to your face. You hold your textbook to yourself and try on what you know is a poor impression of a smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone at this time of night,” you explain.

He stays silent and unmoving, leaving too much dead space that you feel yourself grow desperate to fill with conversation. 

“Am I, uh, in the way? I was just going to work on an essay but I can do that upstairs if you need the table or the room or whatever.”

“No.”

The word is rough, choked out, and the first thing you’ve ever heard him say. His forehead furrows a little and then he shakes his head, eyes steady on you when he speaks again. 

“I can go.”

It feels almost like a fever dream; to be face-to-face with this man who seems built more from fiction than reality, with you blinking back sleep and him dressed down in sweatpants and a hoodie. The glint of his metal fingertips peeking out under the cuff of his sleeve are immediately hidden by the angle of his body the moment your eyes drift in that direction. He looks nothing like a threat, if anything, he looks uncertain and you struggle to believe that the information you have swirling around your brain could be about the man in front of you. His eyes are the saddest part of him, you think suddenly, and then you’re speaking again.

“You know, it’s a pretty big room. Insanely big, actually. Absurd and extravagant but I suppose that’s Tony Stark.” You pause, quirking one side of your mouth before giving a slight shrug. “What I’m saying is, there’s definitely enough room for the both of us. We could share.”

There’s another beat of silence stretching between you both but he doesn’t leave. You decide to take that as an indication to continue, anything to break the quiet.

“So is sleep not a happening thing for you, then?”

His lips press into a line before he gives a slight shake of his head. “It hasn’t been for a long time,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you but it’s conversation at the least. “If I don’t leave our floor, Steve senses it and then neither of us sleep.”

“Is that a super solider thing?”

There’s a flicker of something in his face, the ghost of what may have once been a smile. “It’s a Steve thing.”

“Ah,” you nod. “Well, welcome to the straight through crew. Party of one, now a party of two, err…” You stop, worrying at your bottom lip. “…James?” You’d heard him referred to with many different names by different people. Everything but the Winter Solider, which seems to be avoided when he’s in earshot as much as possible. 

“Bucky,” he breathes.

“Right. Yes of course. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky, I’m…” Your throat closes around the one piece of information you’ve kept to yourself, tucked neatly among the scraps of what’s left of your life now. You clear your throat, ignoring the small line that’s appeared between Bucky’s eyebrows at your abrupt silence. “Noni,” you offer. “I’m Noni, if you didn’t know.”

Your stomach tightens as he looks at you for a beat longer, that line between his eyes deeper now, but you refuse to feel guilt at the proffered name. When you’d offered it to Tony Stark, you didn’t know if he’d taken it as gospel either but it didn’t matter. There’s power in a name, even if it’s just a way to ground yourself to a life that’s no longer yours. You would gladly take on this new name, this anonymous persona, if it meant you could pretend your old life is still in reach. 

Bucky tilted his head with a slight incline to his mouth, a seize fire that has you breathing normally again, and then he nods once in the direction of your laptop. “You’re writing an essay.”

The question in his voice is clear even if it isn’t phrased as such and you can understand why. Aside from Peter Parker, you have to be the only Avenger recruit that still has homework.

“Yeah, well, before I was graced with the ability to make people feel as though their hearts have been ripped from their chests among other things, I was a college student majoring in English. I figured I’m already in the process of selling my soul for a college degree so I may as well… stick with it.” You drop your gaze from Bucky, flinching at your own words and forcing your focus on your fingers curling in and out of fists rather than the acidic burn at the back of your throat. You don't mention you've had to re-enrol as a distance student because you don't trust yourself to be on a campus full of people. 

When you look back at Bucky, his eyes remain steady on you as he nods. If he notices the change in your demeanour, he doesn’t show it and you’re grateful to him for that. There’s another silence settling but it’s different than before.

“I won’t be… disturbing you?” Bucky asks finally, still standing steadfast in the doorway. 

It’s a loaded question and you see through it immediately.

“Not at all. It’ll actually be kind of nice to have some company. Feels a little less lonely.”

It’s strange because you’re being honest despite having spent most of your time avoiding everyone else in the tower. But it’s nearing three o’clock and the city is still moving beneath you soundlessly and having a body in the room to deflect the quiet is a comfort you didn’t know you wanted until now. 

Silently, he drifts across the room and lies down on the couch. You wait to hear the sound of the television turning on but there’s nothing outside of the steady draw and release of his breathing so you settle back into your essay, compiling resources and working on an outline. Try as you might, you can’t stop your gaze from drifting over to Bucky’s still form every so often to check if he’s still there. He’s unmoving. 

When it hits ten past five, you can’t starve off the yawns or the burn of sleep in your eyes any longer. The lines of text in the word document in front of you refuse to stay in straight lines which is a clear sign to call it a night. You’re careful as you gather up your things, desperate not to disturb Bucky who you’re certain has to be asleep by now. 

Casting a glance in his direction to confirm this, however, you find him exactly as he’d been for the last couple of hours. He’s lying on his back, arms heavy at his sides, with his eyes still open and staring up at the ceiling with the determination of someone running from sleep rather than toward it. You almost feel guilty packing up and leaving him alone but your body is threatening to give out.

You pad towards the door before pausing and looking back at his large frame, all muscle and tight sinew wound up in restless energy that radiates from him, before whispering, “Goodnight, Bucky.”

You don’t expect much in the way of a response but as you turn to leave, a quiet voice follows you out. 

“Sleep well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what am i doin'? what am i doin'? oh yeah, that's right, i'm doin' me
> 
> actually i'm writing a story in a fandom i've never written for, in second person which i never do, when i have plenty of other things i should be doing instead.
> 
> i'm a mess but w/e, i managed to write 15k of this fic within 2 days and i'm having fun, let me live
> 
> (also "noni" - get it? get it?? i can't do the y/n thing because it interrupts my flow so be cool but don't worry, it won't come up much)


	2. two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little further insight into you, our leading lady.
> 
> (just as a heads up, there is reference to depressive behaviour.)

> "Today I'm not myself,  
>  and you, you're someone else.  
>  And all these rules don't fit  
>  and all that starts can quit.  
>  What a peculiar state, we're in."  
>  au revoir // one republic

The days that follow fall away in much the same fashion. Isolation, and too much time spent inside your own mind. Every day you wished to sleep a little longer, to waste a little more time trapped in unconsciousness, but you always wake in the early afternoon with too many hours left until you can return to sleep again.

The objective is to keep yourself occupied and outside of certain swirling thoughts inside your head. You’ve read every book that you brought with you twice, even your textbooks from back to front, but you’ve yet to work up the courage to take something from the library so you read your books for a third time instead. Your body aches to move, to run and twist and beat like it did before, but you can’t bring yourself to head to the gym in the fear that’s where they’ll be and so you run laps of your room until you feel dizzy. Your phone remains in your bedside table, hidden away along with the rest of the small handful of your personal items, but you don’t ever stop thinking about it. It’s switched off now, the insistent buzzing of missed calls and ignored texts becoming too much. 

The thought of turning it on, allowing yourself to indulge in your old life even for a moment, is beyond tempting. The people you care about knew you were going away for a bit, to clear your head after what happened, but they didn’t know where and that’s how you want to keep it. They’ll be worried, you know that, but the loneliness that eats you up is a dangerous thing, something that could easily take on a life of its own and make every fear you have inside your head become a reality if you let yourself soften. 

It’s better this way. To be trapped inside your luxurious prison, trapped inside your body that now felt foreign. Less chance of making mistakes and less chance of hurting people.  
The only difference in your life now is that it’s no longer only yourself and your textbooks occupying the common room during the early morning hours. It’s like clockwork – you power on your laptop, set up your textbooks, bring up the word document holding your essay, and then in shuffles Bucky, nodding at you as he moves towards the couch where he lies, soundless and awake. There isn’t much in the way of talking between you two, the room practically silent bar your breathing and the consistent tapping of your keyboard, but it’s comfortable and within days has become familiar. 

Though you try to keep your focus on the work in front of you, you can’t help but let your eyes stray to him from time to time. He looks terrible, is the thing. He wears his lack of sleep like war paint, smudged darkly around his eyes, and the stubble that had been collecting on his chin has surpassed what you could classify as a five o’clock shadow. It’s in the way he carries himself, regardless of how lithe he manages it, it’s all too clear the impossible weight of the demons that suffocate him. Even a super solider can’t forfeit their sleep without consequence and Bucky looks as though he’s paying for it dearly. 

Tonight, the scene is much the same with you hunched over your laptop and Bucky stretched out on the couch, completely still. There’s a slight chill in the air that’s got you snuggling deeper in your sweatshirt as you read over your essay for the third time. You mouth the words to yourself, used to speaking your essays aloud to check for passive voice or run on sentences, and it’s only when you get to the end that you realise you’ve accomplished the one thing you could never do before all this happened. You’re now completely up to date in your studies, having done all your readings for weeks in advance and completed every writing task, every peer review, and even finishing the additional readings. Submitting this essay would signal being completely on top of your assignments and you almost can’t believe how deeply unhappy this leaves you. Before, you would’ve given anything to be in this position, to go out for a night with your friends without the guilt of an assignment waiting for you at home, but now the thought fills you with dread. Without this to hold your focus, your spiral into dissociation could only get worse. 

Despite the temptation to completely rewrite the essay as a way of prolonging your distraction, you submit it to your tutor then close your laptop and rub at your eyes. It’s not quite half two and there are hours yet until you’ll be ready to attempt sleep. A shiver presses along your spine as you move your hands from your face and straighten out, jostling your legs to warm yourself and you find yourself looking to Bucky once again. 

“Bucky?”

Your voice sounds strange in the silence, startling after days of nothing between you two, and his reaction is instant as he snaps into a sitting position. His hair has been pulled back off his face in a messy bun with fly-aways falling into the concerned grey of his eyes, leaving you instantly guilty. 

“Sorry, I – I was just thinking about making a cup of tea. Would you… maybe want something?”

Bucky blinks, once, twice, with that line between his eyes present before he nods. “Coffee. Please.”

You quirk one eyebrow up at this. “You’re really committed to the straight through crew, huh? No sleep happening on your watch.” Bucky’s stare falters, like he doesn’t quite know what to make of you which you suppose makes two of you. You offer him a smile to put him at ease and get to your feet. “But sure, I’ll see what I can do. Be back it in a bit.”

To use the term room in reference to the living quarters everybody is issued with would be a serious understatement, as the term apartment would be more appropriate. Each living space had a bedroom and en-suite, a study, a living room, and a kitchen nook allowing completely self-sustained living which is how you’d managed to fly under the radar for so long. You only had to ask FRIDAY for supplies and they’d show up without you having to interact with anyone. Only now you stand in the common kitchen area, four times the size of the one in your quarters, staring down at the complex machinery in front of you as you wonder how on earth you are supposed to make coffee with it. 

“May I be of some assistance?”

At the sound of FRIDAY’s automated voice, you give a little sigh of relief. “God, yes please. Could you make coffee come out of this thing? And maybe point me in the direction of the tea bags?”

“Certainly.”

Within minutes, there were two steaming mugs on the counter. Taking one in each hand, you thank FRIDAY and slip out of the kitchen to head back down the corridor to the common room. The heat from the mugs warms up the porcelain handles and is a relief on your fingers that had been starting to feel the effects of the chill in the air. It’s only when you near the common room that you think you hear voices, faintly, in the direction you’ve come. Heart thudding a little stronger, you freeze and wait for the sounds of footsteps, only for nothing to come. After a moment longer to be sure, you rush into the common room to find Bucky exactly as you left him, sitting up straight with his eyes ahead. 

He looks over at the sound of you returning and you try to act like your body isn’t dripping in excess adrenaline from the scare you’d given yourself out of an invented threat. You hold out the cup of coffee and Bucky takes it with his right hand with a quiet thanks. His left arm remains still where he has it tucked under his thigh, the metal digits carefully hidden. You’d originally planned to settle back in front of your laptop and mindlessly scroll through the internet while avoiding the temptation that your social media accounts give. Instead, you move to the couch next to Bucky’s, tucking your feet up underneath you and cup both palms around your mug to make the most of the warmth it gives.

With your body still shaken from false threat, you curl yourself up tighter and focus on taking small sips of tea. You shouldn’t have sat down near Bucky; that was your mistake. You can’t help but watch him as he stares into his mug of coffee with that line between his eyes that makes him look so lost. It had been fine to see him only in glances and with distance between you but now he’s directly in your line of vision and suddenly clouded by muted colours that you try and blink away.

There’s something different in your brain now, something that isn’t how it was one month and sixteen days ago, and it terrifies you. You have no idea how far it reaches, how deep it goes, and what it makes you capable of. What you do know is that proximity and looking too closely leaves you seeing people in colours, colours that make you want to reach out and tug on the individual shades to find out what’s underneath them. Bucky is an array of dark tones, greys and blacks and the dullest of blues. There’s a flash of green somewhere in there, swimming past too quick for you to register, but you force your eyes shut to make them disappear as your heartbeat kicks back up in your body.

Last time you saw colours like this, you left a man screaming on his side in the street. You hadn’t meant too, he just got too close. 

You tell yourself to move. To get up and return to your room, or at least back to your laptop to keep a safe distance, but you’re suddenly terrified that any sort of movement might set you off. Your own body is foreign to you and so you keep your eyes pressed shut, curling in on yourself until there’s a slight ache when you breathe. 

That ache is what keeps you centred, feeling it with each draw of breathe. Your heart rate settles, your shoulders relax, and each breath comes in a little slower. There’s a slight tug at your fingertips, the weight of your mug being removed from your hand, but it’s not enough to pull you out as you breathe in, breathe out, breathe in…

The next time you open your eyes, it’s not to artificial light and Bucky sitting solemn on the couch next to you. Instead, there’s sunlight pushing in through the floor to ceiling windows to highlight the room in gold and you’re in a ball on your side, tucked beneath a purple woollen blanket you haven’t seen before. It takes a couple of moments for you to piece together what this means and then you’re sitting up straight, struggling out of the blanket as your drowsy brain tries to formulate a route that would get you back to your room without being seen in a building that is now humming with activity.

You realise it’s too late when you’re greeted with an amused voice.

“Well, well, would you look at that? She lives!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh, bless my quiet and sad children. from this chapter forward, there will be a lot more dialogue as you'll start to meet the rest of the team. 
> 
> thank you for reading. ♡


	3. three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a heart to heart with tony stark in which you come to a decision and tony is a Dad Who Is Trying His Best™
> 
> “With all due respect, Mr. Stark, I don’t want to fight for you. I don’t want to fight for anyone. I can’t be a weapon and I can’t hurt people. I can’t _kill_ people.”

> "There is a swelling storm  
>  and I'm caught up in the middle of it all  
>  and it takes control  
>  of the person that I thought I was."  
>  waves // dean lewis

_“Well, well, would you look at that? She lives!”_

Tony Stark stands three steps away from your couch; not exactly an imposing figure in his blue striped pyjama pants and faded graphic shirt as he looks down at you with a wry grin. Regardless of his dressed down state or the amusement in his features, you find yourself paralysed where you sit and can only regard him with wary eyes. 

“Christ, kid, tone it down a notch,” he grumbles, shuffling forward to collapse on the couch where Bucky had sat hours earlier. He lounges against the plush cushions, settling in before looking back at you with one edge of his mouth flicking up in a smirk. “I mean it, things are good here. I’m not about to lead you to your execution if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You narrow your eyes at him which only makes him laugh.

“Okay, alright, it’s in poor taste I know. I won’t apologise, but I know.” He stretches languidly, nestling further back into the couch cushions before dragging his thumb along the edge of his scruffy jaw. “So tell me, what is it with teenagers and their need to hole themselves up in their rooms all day? If it weren’t for FRIDAY updating me on your grocery lists, I might’ve thought you’d carked it up there.”

“’m not a teenager,” you remind him steadily. “I’m twenty two. And I’m sure you’ve got other, more invasive ways to keep tabs on me outside of my weekly shop.”

He grins. “Of course. Naturally. Though I do have to ask, what are you doing with all those highlighters? Two packs a week? That’s a nasty habit.”

“You know what they say, studying is a gateway drug,” you deadpan. 

Tony watches you for a moment before he sits up and clasps his hands together in his lap. The dark mess of his hair and the pillow creases on his cheek take away from the authority he normally has and though you hate to admit it, you feel your earlier caution waver.

“Listen kid – sorry, sorry, _young lady_ – that better?”

“No.”

“Then kid it is, sweetheart.” His eyes grow serious. “You need to know something: we’re not the enemy here. I know you’ve had a bit of shit luck and things are uncertain but we’re here to help you, not for you to hide from. When I came to you, I offered you a place here to help you recuperate and adjust to who you are now. I get it, you’ve needed some time and I’ve been generous about it – truly, I have, I’m not a patient guy – but it’s time to stop running from this. To face it head on.”

There’s an uncomfortable clench in your stomach as you digest his words, hating the reaction they stir within in you. Your fingers tighten around the purple knitted blanket still in your lap to hide the tremors but there’s little you can do to prevent Tony from seeing how damp your eyes have grown. Squaring your jaw, you look up at him with the steadiest gaze you can muster. 

“With all due respect, Mr. Stark, I don’t want to fight for you. I don’t want to fight for anyone. I can’t be a weapon and I can’t hurt people. I can’t _kill_ people.”

“You think that’s truly what I’m asking of you?”

You shrug but there’s little nonchalance found in the gesture. “Why else would I be here?”

Tony draws back and is quick to adopt a neutral expression but not quick enough to keep the guilt from sneaking up on you regardless. He frowns, the lines of concern deep in his face, and his eyes grow a little distant. You drop your gaze to where his hands are clenching together tightly in his lap and almost wish you could take back what you’d said. Almost but not quite. Honesty has to come first before feelings, in something as delicate as this. 

Finally, after an excruciating moment of tense silence, Tony gives a small, mirthless laugh. 

“Well, it’s good to know where we stand, then,” he begins. “And to know your stance on me in particular.” His lips flick upwards but the gesture doesn’t catch his eyes. Instead, he clears his throat and turns to you with a steady look. “I’m going to level with you, kid, okay? Complete honesty here, scouts honour and all that. After what happened to you in that lab, you’re dangerous. You know that, I know that, S.H.I.E.L.D knows that. But you’re not a monster, you’re not a weapon, you’re a kid with rotten luck that has the chance to do something good with it. You think any of us here fight because we want to hurt people? Kill them even?”

He waits for you to give a slow shake of your head before he nods again. 

“Exactly. We do what we do because we want to help people. It’s not without causalities, it’s not without loss or pain or self-hatred but we do what we can with what we have because someone has to try keep this disaster of a planet safe and if not us, then who? My point is, I’m not asking you to fight for me. I’m not even asking you to fight at all, if that’s what you want. But you can’t stick your head in the sand and pretend nothing’s changed, that you’re the same as you were before all this.”

“You think I don’t know that?” you ask, hating the quiver in your voice. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I see people in colours and feel things that aren’t mine to feel and I can hurt people without even trying.”

Tony nodded. He sat up a little straighter, shuffling an inch closer to the edge of his couch, pausing when he notices you flinching away. “You’re afraid of what you don’t know. And when you’re afraid of something, it only controls you more. The only way to stop being afraid is to take control of the thing you fear and to do that you need knowledge. There are people in this building ready to help you figure out the extent of your power, to figure out what you’re capable of and help you harness it.”

“I can’t go back to being an experiment, Tony.”

Even the thought of it has your palms growing sweaty, your heart picking up. You wrap your fingers around your left wrist, feeling the phantom pull of restraints.

“Absolutely not,” he agrees. “You’re not going to be a lab rat, kid. I promise you that. But we have to start somewhere and you’ll have to trust me. You want your old life back and I can’t give that to you. But with a bit of understanding, a bit of training, you can have a life again.”

You take in a shaky breathe but your chest feels lighter now. Tony’s face is earnest and though he’s nothing more than a familiar stranger to you, you find yourself wanting to trust him. You want the things he can offer you; control, no fear, a life of your own again. A minute ticks past, then another, but Tony, in a show of unexpected self-restraint, remains quiet and waits on you.

Finally, you nod. “Okay. I’ll do it. But it’s on my terms, okay? Anything that I don’t like, it’s got to be stopped straight away. I can’t… I can’t go into this if I don’t have a voice.”

“Complete body autonomy, you got it. You say the word and it all stops. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. We’ll start tomorrow, first thing. We’ll get Banner to look you over, run a couple of tests, and go from there.” Tony stands and rolls on the balls of his feet, clapping his hands together with an easy smirk. “As for right now, are you coming to breakfast or do we need to put you down for a nap? You look like shit, kid.”

You roll your eyes. “With a charming offer like that, it’s almost hard to refuse. Almost.” You get to your feet, bringing the purple blanket with you and wrap it around your shoulders. Tony’s offer is a step in the direction you know you should take but the thought of sitting around a breakfast table making small talk on top of the knowledge that you’re about to divulge into this mess in your head leaves you feeling lightheaded.

With an apologetic look, you shake your head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll take you up on that nap instead.”

Tony shrugs. “Sure thing.” He begins to make his way out of the common room, calling over his shoulder, “Eight o’clock sharp, Banner’s lab! Be there!”

He’s gone before you can answer, confident in your compliance in a way that almost has you irritated but you know he’s got a point. All this stuff going on inside you, it’s not going to go away no matter how much you wish for it, so there’s only one way to go and that’s forward. You look down at the purple blanket with questionable origins you’ve wrapped yourself in, your fingers twisted into the soft wool, and decide to bring it with you as you return to your living quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spider-man: homecoming ruined me in many ways, one of them being because i love tony stark in exasperated dad!mode, it brings me so much joy.


	4. four.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky, still struggling with his demons in the shape of night terrors, ends up doing something he's been afraid of since returning from Wakanda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for nightmares and a bit of swearing. if you've read this far, i very much appreciate you ♡

> "When you're in the half light,  
>  it is not you I see  
>  and you'll live a half life,  
>  you only show half to me."  
>  half light // banners

In little over six hours, you’re expected to be in Bruce Banner’s lab for testing and it’s for that exact reason you should be sleeping. In all fairness, you did try. Ignoring your usual urge to roam as the night stretched out, you tucked yourself up under your comforter and focused on your breathing as a way to ignore the hurricane of thoughts attempting to run you down but it was a fruitless effort. Quite plainly, the thought of tomorrow is terrifying and you were left lying under your covers, restless and wide awake.

Eventually, you gave up and rolled out of bed, throwing the purple blanket over your shoulders and grabbing the novel from your bedside table to make your way to the common room. Unsurprisingly, Bucky isn’t there when you arrive but it isn’t long after you curl yourself up on the couch, the purple blanket draped over your knees, and your book open in your lap that he appears. He moves to his usual couch without a sound as though his feet don’t even touch the floor. 

You watch him over the top of your novel as he settles on the couch, sitting this time rather than lying down, and his rigid figure is a complete contrast to Tony Stark’s leisurely sprawl in the same spot hours earlier. He looks over to you, pale eyes searching, and you don’t bother to look away when he meets your eyes. 

“No essay tonight?” 

It’s the last thing you expect him to ask or even care about and a sudden smile lifts your lips as you shake your head. “No, dad, I submitted it last night. A week early, even. Oh and hey, thank you. For the blanket.”

Bucky nods, the edge of his mouth flicking upwards. “You seemed comfortable. You were snoring.”

You gasp, all mock horror. “Excuse you, but I do not snore. At all. It’s blasphemy to even suggest that, in fact.”

The incline of his mouth grows, both edges flicking upwards into a grin and it’s really something else. For a brief moment, his face softens along the edges and his eyes brighten making him look younger, a little less sad. Beautiful, even. You can’t look away, but as quickly as it had come, it’s gone. Something inside Bucky seems to pull back, the grin dropping away, and then he’s blinking, swallowing hard, like he’s trying his hardest to remember the answer to an unasked question. You wonder if perhaps the remnants of memory has dislodged somewhere in his mind, taunting him, another missing piece for a very incomplete puzzle.

You keep silent, afraid to disturb him, and make yourself look away. Still afraid of what had transpired last night, you’d picked the couch farthest away from Bucky’s spot, pushing yourself into the very edge to give yourself distance from him. As long as you keep focus, don’t look for too long, don’t think about him too clearly, you can keep the colours at bay. Or so you hope.

The weight of the novel in your hand draws back your attention and you begin to return yourself to the familiar world of Harry Potter. You didn’t even get to the end of the first page of the first chapter before Bucky’s voice captures your attention.

“What are you reading?” There’s a curiosity in the gravel of his voice and when you meet his eyes, you realise he’s trying and you can’t fault him for that. 

You hold up the novel to show him the battered cover of your well-loved edition. “ _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_. Only one of the greatest book series to exist. I’m taking a young adult fiction paper next semester and it’s only the reading list. I’ve read it enough times to recite it in my sleep but I never can resist a re-read.”

Bucky’s forehead furrows, his eyes searching back and forth across the front cover before his lips part in a quiet exhale. “Harry Potter. It’s on Steve’s list.” 

“Steve’s… reading list? Well, good on him. It’s nice to know Captain America knows what’s up.”

“He has a list of things he needs to catch up on. All the big things he’s missed since the 40s.”

“Oh.” You press your teeth into your bottom lip, watching Bucky carefully. “Do… you have a list?”

Bucky makes a face. “Figure I’ve got to catch up on myself first.”

There’s a silence that follows Bucky’s admission and you’re half worried he’ll hear you heart break right down the middle. You know he doesn’t need your pity, that he’d hate to be seen as something broken, but you find yourself suddenly angry all over again that so much can be taken from him. How unfair it’s been and how much he still has to fight. 

“Could you… Will you read it? Out loud?”

His voice, quietly imploring, is almost drowned out by your internal fuming. You stop yourself, caught up on the way he’s looking at you carefully, and offer a tiny smile. 

“Yeah, of course, I can do that. You’ll tell me if the sound of my voice gets annoying though, yeah?”

“It won’t,” he tells you, all steadfast conviction that makes your smile grow. 

“Well okay then. But only on the condition that you get yourself comfortable. It’s one of the greatest stories of all time, and you can’t enjoy it sitting like that.”

Bucky settles into a lying position, on his back with his head propped up on a pillow to keep his eyes on you. He looks only a fraction less stiff like this than he was sitting upright but you see it as some sort of progress. You move to unfold your legs and cuddle further into the couch cushion, clearing your throat quietly. Despite the expanse of the room, with the darkness that pressed to the windows, the slight dim of the overhead lights, and the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest, you feel settled. 

“Chapter one: the boy who lived,” you began, your voice soft but clear. “Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you’d expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn’t hold with such nonsense…”

*******

It’s not the scream but the pained cries that come before it that startles you from sleep. The Harry Potter novel that had been barely hanging from your fingertips falls to the floor and you push yourself up from where you’d slumped back into the couch cushions into unexpected sleep. 

The cries hurt to hear, your heart pulsing as you seek out the danger in the dark of the room. 

“FRIDAY, lights!”

The words have barely left your lips when the room bursts into colour again and there is Bucky, writhing on the couch with his face contorted in anguish. The thin layer of sweat soaking his shirt is a testament to how long he’d been struggling. His mouth falls open, heavy gasps mixed in with desperate sobbing, but his eyes remain closed. A nightmare. Of course, of course he’d be victim to his own mind the minute he gives up control. No wonder he’d been doing what he could to avoid it, the sounds coming from him enough to leave you trembling. 

With unsteady feet, you rush toward him only to watch as his whole body stills, completely rigid, before he lets out a hoarse scream that almost stops your heart dead in your chest. It’s the worst sound you can imagine that speaks of the excruciating pain he’s in and you’re desperate to pull him back, to drag him from whatever torture sits behind his eyes. 

“Bucky! Bucky, please. Wake up, Bucky, wake up! You’re safe, you’re in the Avengers Tower. Bucky!”

Your words begin to garble together in your desperation but nothing seems to stick, he continues to struggle and pant and sob against the couch. His chest caves in on itself with each cry, his face pale where it presses into the pillow to muffle another scream. You reached out for him, ready to shake him if that’s what it takes, but your hands freeze above his shoulder. There’s something you vaguely remember about not waking somebody up but is that nightmares or sleep walking? Is this going to harm him more? 

He twists again, so suddenly you found yourself flinching back, and then there’s another scream so pained that your fingers shake and you no longer care about the proper way; all you want is to save Bucky from the horrors he’s drowning in. 

The second your palms rest against the damp skin of Bucky’s right shoulder to shake him, two things happen in quick succession. 

First, Bucky’s eyes fly open, the whites of his eyes startling as he frantically looks around without actually seeing. Seconds later, his metal hand comes around to clamp around your forearm. 

Then, you feel it. It seeps in through your palms and into your veins like venom, all too quick to spread to the rest of your body and leave you crying out. It’s a pain you can’t describe, muted as though it’s not your own, but enough to have you crying out as you fight against Bucky’s hand holding you to him. It’s excruciating, you feel the severing of bone and muscle in your left shoulder, you can hear the rumble of words in your ears that you can’t understand, the burn of flesh, and an electric pulse that leaves you head stirring. It’s like someone’s taken a dull knife to your brain, scraping and scraping until there’s nothing left. 

You identify your own screaming and it’s just enough to bring you to the surface to see Bucky’s dead-eyed stare, his grey eyes unrecognisable as his metal fingers curled tighter around your arm. It’s not enough to crush the bone but it’s only a matter of time as you feel your fingertips grow numb. 

“Bucky, Bucky, please! You’re okay, we’re okay, we’re – fuck,” you pant, your body jerking helplessly at the conflicting hurt of the external pain and the far worse internal pain. “Bucky, you’ve got to wake up, please…”

There’s the sudden movement of Bucky lurching your arm up, pulling your palm from his shoulder but keeping it in the same heavy grip of his metal hand. Instantly the internal pain fizzles away and you slump in relief. Without the buzz of machinery and foreign voices, you can hear only your own laboured breathing and the rush of blood past your ears. You realise your face is damp from tears and sweat. 

Your hand is limp in Bucky’s grip, growing white with the lack of blood flow, and you look up again to plead with Bucky only to find him staring at you with horror. The pressure on your arm disappears immediately and without Bucky’s hold, you crumple to the floor. You stay down long enough to draw in one shaking breath and then you’re rising on shaking legs, turning to Bucky who looks frantic and nauseated. 

“Bucky…” you start softly, holding your bruised arm to your chest as you move forward slowly. “Bucky, can you hear me? You’re okay, you had a nightmare. But you’re safe, you’re fine. We’re in the Avengers Tower and I was reading you Harry Potter and we must’ve fallen asleep but…”

“Don’t!” Bucky barks, jumping back with enough force to push the couch halfway across the room. He looks horrified, his lips quivering as he looks down at where you hold your arm against yourself, and then away with a look of repulsion. “Don’t come near me, please,” he grits out, his voice broken to match his expression. 

“Okay, I’m staying right here,” you murmur. “Are you alright? Should I get Steve?”

“Alright?” he explodes, the words coming out like a snarl. “I could’ve killed you!”

You flinch at his tone but keep your expression steady, wishing your body wasn’t trembling so violently from excess adrenaline. “Bucky, I’m fine,” you start, but he shakes his head. 

“That,” he growls, his gaze flicking to your arm then to your face. “That is not fine.”

“Bucky…”

Before you can even get out the last syllable of his name, he’s already disappearing, moving so quick you have no chance of stopping him. Even if you could, you don’t think your body would let you as your feet feel anchored to where you stand, your knees knocking together. Eventually, exhaustion hits and you sink to the floor, unable to even pull yourself over to the nearest couch. Your face is still damp with tears that won’t stop coming and you can’t stop thinking about the pain that had overwhelmed you the moment you touched Bucky’s skin. 

The pain in your shoulder. The pain in your head. The hazy sounds that felt more like a memory than a dream. A nightmare. The dull thud of pain in your arm where he’d gripped you is nothing compared to what you had felt. You can’t stop seeing Bucky’s terrified eyes, looking like a cornered animal trying to flee, and both your heart and body ache. 

“Shit,” you whisper, closing your eyes against the new tears forming. “Shit, shit, shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it killed my soul to write 'harry potter and the sorcerer's stone' because i'm from new zealand and it's 'harry potter and the philosopher's stone' here. alas, i will carry on somehow i guess.


	5. five.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which bruce banner is a sweetheart, tony stark can't balance a pencil on his nose, and you try your best to protect bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for reference to needles and blood draws.

> "I'm ready to fall, so tired of it all,  
>  down deep in a hole, can't do it alone.  
>  I'm ready to climb this mountain inside,  
>  impossible heights."  
>  white blood // oh wonder

There’s a crisp cleanliness to Bruce Banner’s lab that feels unlike the sterile, unwelcoming atmosphere of a hospital you’d been imagining. The benches were filled with half-completed projects, pieces of complex tech components, and textbooks strewn open with the whiteboards filled with figures and symbols in Banner’s hurried scrawl. Yet rather than feel cluttered, there’s an air of organised mess that helps you relax if only a fraction.

You sit at a stool near one of the more busy work benches, your hands folded together in your lap as you swing your crossed ankles back and forth. There’s no hiding the lack of sleep in your face as Bruce Banner peers down at you with a little frown twisting his mouth, dragging a penlight back and forth for your eyes to follow. Every part of you feels raw and you have no control over the way your shoulders still tremble after hours of lying awake thinking about the terrified grey of Bucky’s eyes and the phantom pains still present in your shoulder and head. 

Banner makes a little humming noise, clicking off the light and begins jotting notes down on his clipboard. He presses one finger to the centre of his glasses absently to push them back up his nose before straightening out and offering you a small smile. 

“Everything feel okay so far?” he asks, his voice as gentle as his eyes.

You nod, feeling the tension coiling beneath your skin ease. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good. Well from what I can gather from the physical examination, your vitals are all within normal parameters. You’re showing no other abnormal symptoms outside of some minor signs of sleep deprivation.”

“Unsurprising, considering she roams about the building well after her bed-time,” Tony pipes up from where he’s reclining in a leather office chair behind you, trying to balance a pencil on the tip of his nose. 

Bruce turns to fix Tony with a look, his lips upturned in a little smile, but it’s enough for Tony to offer a shrug as the pencil clattering to the floor. With a shake of his head, Bruce looks back at you with a kind expression that you don’t allow yourself to look directly at in fear of how it might break you. It feels like forever since someone’s been so careful with you and the last thing you want is to end up crying in front of Dr. Banner, no matter how nice he’s being. 

“How would you feel about me drawing some blood to run a few tests, and then perhaps we can do a scan to if there’s any abnormal brain activity?”

“Uh…” 

Drawing blood will involve needles and syringes and a pressure around elbow to press your veins to the surface. All things that had never worried you but that was before and this is now. You shake yourself a little, sitting up straighter, and give a determined nod. You knew this would be part of it and both Bruce and Tony had reminded you several times since you’d arrived at the lab that you can stop at any time. 

“Okay, yeah, let’s do this,” you murmur, offering up your left arm. 

Bruce is careful as he rolls up your sleeve to your shoulder and fixes a tourniquet above the crook of your elbow. He taps the inside of your arm gently with his finger before swabbing a damp cotton ball over the pronounced veins. You watch Bruce as he works, head bent over your arm, and you try to focus on sections of grey working its way through his dark hair as a way to ignore his fingers, no matter how gentle, probing your arm. 

“You still okay?” he asks, looking up to study you from behind wire-framed glasses and you nod albeit shakily, and he offers you another smile. “Alright, what I’m going to do is insert this cannula to start the collection. You’ll feel a pinch as the needle goes in and a little tugging feeling that might feel uncomfortable, but it won’t take long.”

There’s a twisting feeling in your stomach as you watch Bruce uncap the needle but you can’t look away. You have to be present for this, in control, because anything less will transport you back to that place, where you were blind, deaf, mute to everything that happened to you. Helpless. You can’t be there again. 

You draw in a breath, trying to ground yourself again. The Avengers Tower. Bruce Banner. Tony Stark. Safe. There’s the pinch of the needle as it pushes against the resistance of your vein but then it’s in, dark blood flowing through the tubing to begin filling up the first vacutainer. 

“You alright, kid?” Tony’s voice sounds far off but when you look up, he’s right beside you. His frown deepens. “You’ve gone a gross grey colour.”

“Rude,” you grit out through clenched teeth. “I’m good. It’s fine.”

It’s not the blood or the suction feeling or even Bruce’s fingers on your arm. It’s the haunting memory of having this exact procedure being performed countless times; sometimes to remove blood but more often than not, to push something foreign into your bloodstream. 

Bruce works efficiently as he switches out the first vacutainer for another, this one with a purple top, then another as they fill quickly. Once the last tube is filled, he releases the tourniquet and holds a cotton ball above the needle, pushing down once he’s slid the cannula from your vein. 

“Are you able to hold pressure on that?” Bruce asks, not moving away until your shaky fingers take over from his to press the cotton ball into the crook of your arm. “Excellent. Well, I’ll get these running and then we’ll take a quick blood pressure before we get started on that scan.”

You nod, moving your arm into your lap as you continue to apply pressure and watch as Bruce moves about his lab with practised ease, dispensing the dark tubes into different machines to be followed by the soft whirring as they hum to life. Tony leans on the work bench beside you, now spinning the pencil around his fingers. 

“You know,” he starts conversationally. “Your anti-social behaviour is really not helping your popularity in this place.”

Twisting on your stool, you eye Tony up. “Is that meant to bother me?”

“It probably should, I mean, you’ve made already made an enemy out of Barton. He’s been hanging out to haze the new kid but you being all elusive has really thrown him off.”  


“Pity,” you said without any sympathy. “Is this your way of telling me I need to make friends?”

“Trust me, I’m just as surprised. It’s taken me a long time to subscribe to the idea that you might actually need other people in your life but it turns out there might be truth in it.”  


You study Tony carefully, searching beneath the top layer of humour to something deeper underneath. There’s concern there, amongst other things, and you don’t know how to react to it or whether to be put on edge. There’s a genuine feel to his words but there’s that voice in your head, a whisper that reminds you that trust is another form of weakness that leaves you open and vulnerable. 

“Thanks for the tip,” you say after a moment, turning away again. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Tony huffs a laugh as Bruce returns to set up a portable blood pressure machine on the bench next to you. He applies a strip of tape to the cotton ball in your left elbow before taking your right arm and beginning to roll up the sleeve. Before you can think to stop him, his fingers tips press against the tender skin of your forearm and he pulls the sleeve high enough to expose the brutalised skin. 

It looks worse than it did this morning, having settled into the flesh and now exposed under the florescent lights of the lab. The deep purples and reds clouding together to mottle the skin in the clear form of a hand print, the bruise curling around your forearm; the perfect memory of the fingers that had inflicted the damage. You bite down on your lip to hold back a hiss as Bruce’s fingers still immediately, his eyes flying up to Tony who stands behind you looking down. 

You don’t want to see the expression either of them wear so you pull your arm out from Bruce’s lax fingers and begin tugging up the sleeve of your shirt high enough to allow space for the blood pressure cuff. 

“You’re taking my blood pressure, right?” you ask, pushing your arm back in his direction and ignoring the dull pulse in your forearm. 

“Right, yes,” Bruce nods, strapping the cuff in place. As the cuff inflates, an uncomfortable pressure tightens around your arm and makes your forearm pulse. You blink to keep from flinching but Bruce is watching too closely to miss it. He takes a reading, scrawling it down on his clipboard, before releasing the pressure of the cuff. Rather the pull off the cuff, his fingers turn your arm gently to take in the full extent of damage. “Can you tell me where this is from?”

“It’s just a bruise, it’s fine,” you say, pulling the cuff from your arm and pulling your sleeve down over your fingers. “You can’t tell me that in your time of doctoring Avengers, you haven’t seen one before?”

His lips twitch upwards, but his eyes remain concerned. “Of course. But then those bruises always come off the back of a fight or a mission so it’s to be expected. When you initially arrived here, all your injuries were documented and this wasn’t one of them. It looks fresh, you’ve obtained it in the last twenty four hours, and that’s what concerns me.”  


There’s a violent roll in your stomach as you try not to think about what happened when you were first brought to the Tower after being extracted from the laboratory. You weren’t sure how long you were unconscious for, only remembering the sudden panic that took over you when you came around and started fighting your way out of the hospital floor. There had been plenty of people who’d tried to stop you, to tell you how safe you were in the Avengers Tower, but you weren’t think logically and all you wanted was your freedom. Finally, Tony had told them to let you go, knowing full well he’d keep tabs on you and would approach you soon enough to bring you back in on your own terms.  
You could feel both sets of eyes on you, waiting. Your mistake is looking up at Bruce to be met with that same calm expression of genuine concern and patience which breaks your resolve. There’s something in you that doesn’t want to lie to Bruce Banner, despite how much you want to protect Bucky, and so you settle Bruce with a look before flicking your eyes very carefully in the direction of Tony.

Bruce gets it instantly. 

“For this part of the examination, I think it’s best if it’s just myself and my patient, Tony,” Bruce explains, ignoring the man’s indignant spluttering. “If you’d be so kind.”

“Excuse?” Tony asks, frowning. “You can’t just kick me out!”

“It’s my name on the door,” Bruce says, calm as anything, if not a little amused by the beginnings of a Tony Stark tantrum. “And there’s this little thing called patient confidentiality.”

“It’s my name on the building! …I mean, it was. Shit. It’s still my building!” Tony stares at Bruce through narrowed eyes but Bruce doesn’t budge. Finally, Tony sighs and throws up his hands.

“Fine, fine, whatever. You know I’ll be getting the medical report later, anyway, right?”

“Goodbye, Tony,” Bruce says easily, turning back to you as he begins to pack away the blood pressure machine. 

Tony isn’t quiet in his departure but when he tries to swing the door closed behind him, there’s only the sound of a pressurised hiss. He stands on the other side of the glass, irritated. “Pretend that door slammed!” he yells from the other side. “I’m remodelling this building to give me the pleasure of slammed doors, like, immediately.” With that, he stalks off and leaves Bruce wearing a little smirk. 

“He’s great, isn’t he?” Bruce laughs. “He keeps things interesting.”

Bruce stands up then and shucks of the white lab coat he’d been wearing, leaving him looking far more casual in jeans and a black button down with the sleeves rolled back to his elbows. He folds up his coat and pushes it into the centre of the work bench before settling onto the stool next to your own. 

“So,” he begins amicably, his fingers threading together in front of him as he offers you an easy smile. “Shall we talk about it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry tony, legends only. 
> 
> i kid, i kid, i kid. 
> 
> thanks for reading ♡


	6. six.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you and bruce talk it out, followed by a midnight run in with captain america himself.

> "I never meant to cause you trouble,  
> and I never meant to do you wrong,  
> and I, well, if I ever caused you trouble,  
> oh, no, I never meant to do you harm."  
> trouble // coldplay

“It was an accident,” you stress, looking to Bruce imploringly. “Honestly. It wasn’t his fault and I don’t… I don’t want something to happen because of this. If anything, I was in the wrong, I shouldn’t have…” You stop, shaking your head. “It really was just an accident.”

“Okay, I believe you,” Bruce nods. “Nobody is getting in trouble here.”

You swallow thickly, a shiver coming over you at the thought of what happened last night. “I… I tried to wake Bucky up, he was having a nightmare and was screaming and crying and it was… It was so awful to watch and I just wanted to make it stop. I know it probably wasn’t wise to startle him the way I did, but I didn’t know what else to do. He wasn’t himself, I think he was still half inside his nightmare and he grabbed me. That’s all it was. He just held on until he woke up for real and when he realised what he’d done, he looked so traumatised.” You groan, pushing your face into your hands. “It was really dumb and I know I’ve probably pushed him back several stages in his recovery.”

“You were only trying to help,” Bruce says kindly. There’s a piqued interest in his eyes as you can see him trying to figure out how you got yourself in a position to bear witness to one of Bucky’s night terrors but he doesn’t outwardly express his curiosity. “Bucky’s recovery is currently two steps forward and one step back, it’s the result of the horrors he’s had to overcome but he’s determined. Was it his flesh hand that grabbed you?”

“No.” Your fingers curl lightly around your bruised forearm, the light pressure causing another dull pulse as you think of his stricken face when he came around. “It was his left hand. The metal one.”

“May I?” Banner holds out his hand and gestures for your arm. When you extend it towards him, he runs his finger down each of yours, touching at the pads and watching your face. “Can you feel that?”

You nod. 

“Could you wiggle your fingers for me?” All your digits move back and forth against his palm. “Is there any excessive pain when you move your arm? Does it hinder your ability to use it?”

“No. It just feels like a bruise, sore when there’s pressure on it,” you answer. “I don’t think it’s broken or anything.”

Bruce hums. “We might take a picture of it while you’re getting scans done just to be sure but if that’s so, then he was showing some incredible restraint. Even with his right hand, he’s able to inflict worse damage than this but with his metal hand… He doesn’t feel pressure in the same way you would with a flesh hand. He’s… for lack of better phrasing, heavy handed without the nerve endings necessary to dictate his pressure and grip.”

“He told me he could’ve killed me, after he woke up. He looked terrified and completely convinced he would’ve,” you admit softly. 

“Perhaps it’s a possibility, given the nature of his nightmares and with his past history, but he’s got a lot more restraint than he gives himself credit for.”

You think of how disgusted he sounded with himself, Bucky’s eyes focusing only on your arm with terror in his expression. He could’ve snapped your arm in half with his right hand easily, and inflicted far worse damage with his left but he didn’t. He didn’t recognise his own strength in the form of control, focusing only on the evidence of his own brute force. 

“There’s something else.” Your arm had been the last thing on your mind last night and while you’d been conflicted whether to tell Bruce about what had occurred, it suddenly felt significant. “The pain in my arm was nothing compared to what happened when I touched him. It’s like, the minute my hand was on his shoulder, I was being ripped apart. All these sensations came at me, horrible excruciating pain and sensory overload like I was… I don’t know how to explain it but it was like… It was like I was experiencing his nightmare. It stopped the moment I broke contact. He was still holding my arm at this point, but there was no skin to skin.”

Bruce’s forehead crumples, lips parting in surprise. “What makes you think it was his nightmare?”

“There was this… ghost pain, in my shoulder. It felt like my arm was being sawed off.” You cringe at the memory of it. “And I could hear… There was a lot going on inside my head but there was this language being spoken. I think it was Russian.”

Silence follows as Bruce takes in what you’ve said before he’s nudging his glasses back into place and making a few notes on his trusty clipboard. You hate to think exactly what he’s writing down but you trust him enough to believe it’s nothing incriminating about Bucky, given the way he speaks about him with a certain type of reverence. 

“This would certainly tie into the abilities you’ve already shown,” Bruce mutters. His pen scratches busily across the paper before he looks back at you. “You said that you see colours around people, different tones, and that when you focused on a certain shade, you managed to incapacitate someone, yes?”

“Not on purpose!”

“Of course. But I’m wondering if this is an extension of that. Bucky would’ve been producing some intense emotions and perhaps without meaning to, when you touched him, you managed to somehow transfer those emotions to yourself.”

“I don’t… I mean, I don’t know. It’s possible, I guess.”

“It’s definitely something to explore,” Bruce says with a determined nod. “But for now, I think we should get those scans out of the way and give you some time to rest. I’ve got some ointment for that bruise, if you’d like?”

*******

Your lack of sleep from the night before and the exhaustion from your time in Bruce’s lab has you immediately falling to bed once you return to your living quarters in the early afternoon. Later, when you startle awake with your heart stumbling until you recognise your surroundings, you notice it’s already dark outside. Disorientated, you stumble to your feet and pull on a sweater to compensate for the warmth you left behind. 

“FRIDAY, what time is it?” you ask, fighting back a yawn. Your body feels rested but your mind is anything but.

“It is currently 2:06am.”

Christ, that was some nap. So much for trying to sort out your sleeping habits. There’s a persistent growl from your stomach that puts you in the direction of the kitchen nook, where you settled yourself up on the counter next to the fruit bowl and reach for a banana. It’s eerily quiet inside your living quarters, nothing outside of your own chewing. As far as you know, you’re the only one occupying any of the apartments on this floor but that knowledge only came from the fact that you hadn’t yet come across anybody as you snuck in and out. 

“FRIDAY, is there like… a layout plan for the Tower? Can you see which apartments are in use?”

“Certainly.” The AI answers before suddenly there’s a blueprint of the Avengers Tower projected on the wall in front of you. There are sections of it that are restricted and hidden from view, but the floors that contain living apartments are all labelled with the names of the occupants. You seek out your floor and realise you’re right; there are three other apartments on this floor that aren’t in use. It’s the same for most floors, holding only one or two occupants and you suppose it comes down to personal preference. Barton’s apartment, which he only stays in when he can’t be home, is on the same floor as Natasha’s, and Bucky and Steve also shared a floor. 

As it turns out, it’s the floor directly above yours. 

You’re out of your room before a plan has even finished forming. In the elevator, you press down rather than up, thinking it doesn’t hurt to check even though there’s a part of you that already knows you’ll find nothing but a dark room. True enough, when you wander into the common room, the lights flickering on with you, it’s empty. Bucky’s couch has been moved back into its original place and you wonder what happened to that purple blanket you’d had with you.

Rather than sit with all this restless energy, you stand by the large windows and watch the city move beneath you. You watch for so long that your eyes move out of focus, blurring the lights until your vision is just a haze of red, yellow, and white. He’s not coming. It’s been long enough for him to appear and so you switch to your original plan.

The floor mirrors your own as you step out of the elevator, looking around for any sign of life before you move down the corridor. It’s only once you reach the door that you falter and ask yourself what exactly you want out of this. You hardly knew each other, a week in each’s others silence doesn’t constitute as friendship, but there’s this gnawing feeling in you that’s desperate to know if he’s okay. Above all else, you want him to see that you’re fine and to apologise for messing things up for him. If his expression last night is anything to go by, you can only imagine what sort of mental self-flagellation he’s forcing himself to endure. 

There’s light spilling out from under the door which moves your hand, rapping at the door softly. You’re almost certain that he’s already aware of your presence, being a super solider and all, and when you hear movement from the other side of the door you take a step back.

You’re not sure what to expect but it isn’t this; an exhausted looking Captain America with purple smudges under his eyes in a white shirt that looks two sizes too small around the shoulders. 

“Um,” you begin eloquently. “Captain. Hi. I, uh, I was trying to find Bucky but must’ve gotten… mixed up.” You hadn’t, at least, you’re pretty certain given you’d memorised the floor plan FRIDAY had given you. 

Steve’s expression doesn’t change much from rumpled disbelief, but he gives a little nod. “Steve is fine,” he informs, not unkindly. “And you were right, I’m just staying with Buck… I’m just helping him sort through some stuff. At the very least, I’m trying.”

You don’t need to guesses to figure out what’s brought this about. 

“I don’t suppose he’s up for a visitor then,” you say, pressing your lips together when Steve shoots you an apologetic look. 

“Not currently, no. I can let him know you stopped by, though?” The exhaustion in his face permeates through all his features but there’s still a spark of interest in the weary blue of his eyes. He’s larger up close than you’d originally thought, built like a brick shit house – or made maybe? – there’s nothing about him that leaves you feeling like he’s a threat. If he’s angry that you set his best friend back in is recovery, he doesn’t do much to show it. 

“Could you? And, um, maybe just let him know…” You trail off, mouth moving around words that don’t fit what you want to say. You’re sorry? Naturally, but that won’t mean much. That you’re fine is another one, but perhaps something you should wait to tell him to his face. “Tell him… that when he’s ready, we can pick up where we left off in Harry Potter. I promise I won’t read ahead.”

A line deepens in Steve’s forehead and he flicks his eyebrows up. “I… Sure, yeah, I can pass that along.”

“Thanks.” 

You can’t quite bring yourself to leave and Steve seems to indulge you, leaning up against the door with a patient expression. This is not how you’d envisioned properly meeting Captain America, not that you’d imagined it ever before all this happened, but there’s something about the quiet between you in the dim hallway light that leaves you feeling vulnerable. 

“Will he be okay?”

Steve lifts his head, tilting it a little to catch your eye and it doesn’t feel unlike he’s trying to read something in you. Finally, he straightens up and clears his throat. “He’s trying to be.”

You appreciate his honesty even if the truth settles heavy in your chest. “Goodnight Captain – err, Steve.”

He nods, watching as you begin to walk away before he calls out, “Get some rest, kid.” There’s the sound of the door closing behind you and you’re left in the hallway alone.

You want to heed Steve’s advice but you can’t imagine being able to sleep, not after sleeping for nearly twelve hours already and the non-stop thinking going on in your head. But your body feels shaky and you could do with a distraction so you stretch out along your bed and jam your headphones in, picking something soothing to try stabilise your heartbeat. You don’t realise it, but you’re asleep before the first song ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> saw spider-man: homecoming for the second time last night and somehow loved it even more than the first. what a film. 
> 
> i think the chapter that comes after this one is my favourite because it features sam wilson and we all know that sam wilson is errything. thanks for reading! ♡


	7. seven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sam and steve become your personal trainers and only mildly kill you in the process.

> "I can’t change your thoughts, my dear,  
>  I can’t change your fears,  
>  but if you want I'll travel near  
>  to make it disappear."  
>  _forest fires // axel flóvent_

The message emits a sudden, sharp beep as it appears on the front of your fridge the moment you shuffle into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, giving you half a heart attack. You run a hand through your messy hair, cursing Tony Stark silently because it’s still too early for this sort of nonsense.

_‘Kid,_

_Your presence is required in the kitchen today at 8am. Don’t be late._

_TS.’_

You’re almost surprised at how polite it is, that there was no annoying alarm set to ensure you got the message in time, but knowing Tony, he probably had something up his sleeve if it looked like you would sleep through. A nervous churning settles low in your stomach, enough to put you off your cup of tea as you stare at the message until it fades.  


It’s been four days since you last saw Bucky. Four days that you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him, each time the guilt you felt growing heavier as you wonder how he’s doing. You hadn’t gone back to his apartment since that first night, figuring it wouldn’t do to force him to speak to you, but it didn’t stop you from constantly thinking about it or returning to the common room every night in the hopes he’d appear. He never did but you’d sit with Harry Potter beside you and a second book for you to read in the interim with the television on low, hoping it would be the night he’ll come back. 

Your days were more constructive, having taken to spending your time in Bruce’s lab. There’s something comforting about the space along with Bruce’s gentle presence and even when he was working on other projects that didn’t revolve around you and your developing abilities, you liked to stick around and be useful where you could. Sometimes you’d talk, other times there would be nothing but the whir of machines and Bruce muttering to himself, but it meant you weren’t alone. You figured that would be at least a start for Tony, that you weren’t spending all your time cooped up in your room, but clearly he’d been serious about getting you to spend more time with the rest of the team. 

It shouldn’t make you as nervous as it does. You’d met most of them on the first day you’d come here on your terms, briefly and without meeting anyone’s eyes for too long, but enough that you knew who they all were. Feeling that heaviness in your stomach grow, you stop and take a deep breathe, focusing on relaxing each muscle in your body. It’s one of the calming exercises Bruce has been coaching you through, ones that you were certain he used himself to keep the other guy at bay. When you’d been describing the times were your abilities would surface, you’d deduced that it was almost always when you were feeling strong, intense emotions – mainly fear, anger, and panic. It made sense that until you had a better grip on your abilities, the best thing to do would be ensure you don’t put yourself in any situations in which you would experience anything upsetting. 

After a moment, you feel steadier and move back into your bedroom to get dressed. You don’t bother to put on anything nice, it’s only breakfast, but you do take the extra effort to make sure you’ve got on a clean shirt with minimal tea stains down the front of it before you head down to the communal kitchen. 

You can hear the music playing in the kitchen the moment you step off the elevator, a smooth rhythm and blues tune that isn’t completely unfamiliar. Following the music, you don’t allow a moment’s hesitation as you step into the kitchen expecting to find half the occupants in the building sitting around the table eating breakfast. Instead, there’s only Steve Rogers sitting up at the brunch bar looking down at the iPad in front of him and Sam Wilson cooking eggs, swaying to the music. 

“…because you get the news articles as quickly as they happen, it’s genius. And eco-friendly. In such a fast moving world, it makes sense,” Steve is saying, before being cut off by a snort from Sam. 

“Yes, thank you Cap, but I know how the news app works, I’ve been awake during this technological age while others of us were napping.”

Steve makes a face at him before he presses the sleep button on the side of the iPad and pushes it away. He gives a quiet sigh. “The thing is, the app updates itself so many times in an hour with each top story worse than the last. It reminds you how bad the state of the world is.”

Sam pauses from where he’s stirring scrambled eggs on the stove, mouth open to speak when he catches you standing in the doorway. He turns, a smile pulling across his face that’s equal parts amused and friendly. “Well, if it ain’t the new kid on the block. I was starting to think Stark had actually gone cuckoo for cocoa puffs and had made you up.”

You step further into the kitchen, offering a tiny smile to Sam and Steve as you twist your fingers into the fabric of your sweatshirt sleeves. “Nope, I’m very real m’afraid.” 

“It’s nice to see you in the daylight hours,” Steve says kindly, before jerking his thumb in the direction of the coffee machine. “Hot drink?”

“Oh, ah, tea please but I can make it, you don’t have to get up – ” 

There’s no chance for you to finish your sentence because Steve’s already up, pulling out the stool next to his own and gesturing for you to sit before moving to Sam’s side of the counter to pull out a mug. With a little grateful smile, you slide into the stool and watch as Steve sets up the machine to brew you a cup of tea. The kitchen looks completely different during the day as the sun floods through the glass windows to leave the space feeling warm and airy, as rhythm and blues fills the cosy space from hidden speakers. It’s hard not to relax in such an atmosphere but there’s still stiffness in your spine as you wait for the rest of the team to show up, or at the very least Tony to make sure you showed up at all. 

“Thank you,” you murmur as Steve pushes a mug of tea in front of you, returning to sit in the stool next to your own. The impulse to ask after Bucky is something you have to tamper down, knowing that his best friend’s current state is probably not something he wants to discuss at the breakfast table. To distract yourself, you cross your ankles and bring the warm mug up to your lips, watching as Sam dances around the kitchen as he prepares his breakfast.

“ _As pretty as you are, you know you could’ve been a flower. If good looks was a minute, you know you could be an hour…_ ” Sam croons into a wooden spoon as he moves about and it’s impossible to look away.

Sam puts on such a show, keeping in time with the music as he flips sauce bottles and plates about before rushing back to the saucepan every few seconds to give it a stir. He does a perfectly timed spin and grabs the popped toast out of the air before plating it, buttering it, and pouring a heavy helping of scrambled eggs on top to slide in front of Steve. “There you are, big guy,” he grins, before turning to you. “Now, newbie, how do you like your eggs?” 

“Oh, I uh, I’m not…”

“Don’t say you’re not hungry, it’s not acceptable. You need a good breakfast today in preparation for the ass kicking training session I’ve got planned for you.”

“Training?” You blink at him, waiting for further explanation, and feeling your stomach plummet when Sam nods, a grin widening across his face. 

“Stark didn’t tell you? You’re looking at your new trainer – the best of the best, naturally!”

Steve snorts in his scrambled eggs. “I’m telling Romanoff you said that when she’s back.”

“I ain’t afraid of her!” Sam shoots back, narrowing his eyes at his friend. 

“You sure about that?”

Sam’s glare only grows more intense before he’s sighing. “You’re a goddamn nark, Rogers, anyone ever tell you that?”

With an easy shrug, Steve pops a toast crust into his mouth and chews cheerfully. 

Unable to find any amusement in their banter, you shake your head furiously. “No. Absolutely not. Not happening. I told Tony I wasn’t fighting anyone.”

Sam and Steve share a look and then Sam’s crossing his arms to lean onto the counter and ducking his head to catch your eye. “Training isn’t just for fighting. You think your control over your abilities, the power in your abilities even, strengthens purely through mental exercise? Nah uh. You need stamina, focus, determination. That’s where I come in.”

“Not to mention,” Steve pipes up, “that just because you don’t want to fight doesn’t mean there aren’t people in the world that want to fight you. Hate to break it to you kid, but your abilities put a target on your back.” He lifts one side of his mouth up, sympathy clear in the light blue of his eyes. 

Sam nods along with Steve, running one finger over the rough hair above his lip before he offers you a wide smile. “But learn to run fast enough and they can’t catch you. Or do what this bozo does and grow strong enough to just punch all your problems.”

The affronted look on Steve’s face is enough to provoke a surprise laugh from you. 

“I’m going to assume there’s no way out of this for me, is there?” you say after a moment, your mouth still upturned in a small grin, nodding when Sam shakes his head at your question. 

“You know how Tony is when he gets his mind set on something. But don’t worry,” Sam’s smile only stretches wider as he flicks his eyebrows at you, “it’ll be fun. Now, how do you want your eggs?”

*******

If the grim reaper were to swagger into the Avengers Tower right at this minute and inform you of your untimely death, there’s every possibility you would only be grateful. Your workout gear feels like a second skin, plastered to your body from the sheer amount of sweat pouring out of you, your throat is dry and gasping, and there’s a pain in your side that’s only grown tenfold as you continue making laps around the huge training room. 

It doesn’t help that both Steve and Sam pass you every few seconds, rubbing in their athletic abilities under the guise of being motivating and supportive. Bullshit. 

“Pick up the pace, initiate! It’s your last lap, you can do it! Grandpa Rogers is making you look bad!” Sam calls out as he moves past you once again. It’s your fourth lap, and Sam’s twelfth. You’d lost count of how many times Steve had passed you. 

“I resent that!” Steve calls, not even the slightest bit out of breath.

“Grandpa… Rogers… oh god,” you pant, your pace slowing down considerably despite Sam’s encouragement, “…got a little help… from the ‘roids so I don’t… care…”

“I resent that also!” Steve says, his voice closer now as he comes up from behind to overtake you yet again.

Sam slows down to match your pace, jogging backwards so he can face you. “She’s got a point, my dude. You technically cheated with that super serum.” 

Before Steve can defend himself, you stop all together and bend over, holding your knees as you take deep, huffing breaths. It’s not your fault you have a body built off cheap takeaways and sweets from being both a poor student and a self-confessed glutton. Besides, you think defensively as you try and focus on not vomiting on the gym floor, you like all the soft edges to your body goddamn. 

“Alright kid, I’d say that’s enough,” Steve says. His large hand comes to rest at the back of your neck, rubbing comfortingly despite the lake of sweat you know you have settling there. “We don’t want to wreck you entirely on your first day.”

“Really?” you pant, tilting your head to look back at him. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Keep talking back like that and Coach Wilson might have you doing burpees again,” Steve whispers, amusement heavy in his voice, as you groan again. 

“Not a bad idea, actually,” Sam agrees, taking one look at your desperate face and letting out a laugh. “I’m only playing. We’ll call it quits for today and we’ll do it all over again tomorrow. You did good, kid.”

“I think I’d believe you more if my body wasn’t currently trying to expel my lungs,” you moan as Steve continues to pat your back sympathetically, “but I appreciate the sentiment.” You move to stand back up again but at the last minute, decide that stretching out along the floor seems a better option until you can breathe.

“Uh…” Sam looks down, one eyebrow raised. “You good, newbie?”

“Perfecto,” you assure him, holding up two thumbs up. The cool ground presses against your flushed skin and you can feel your lungs starting to regain a normal breathing pattern. “You two go ahead, I’ll just recover from death here.”

Steve tilts his head. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Please leave me to my embarrassment.”

With a laugh, both Sam and Steve agree and promise to catch up with you later before they head off. You remain stretched out, focusing on your breathing and the rush of endorphins that are settling inside you. Though you hate to admit it, Sam may have had a point about the whole training thing. Already you felt more centred, your mind sharper as adrenaline fuelled by exercise rather than panic courses through you. 

You can’t be sure how much time passes but eventually you roll over and pull yourself up, pushing the damp hair that had escaped your ponytail off your face. As you cross the training room to head up to your apartment for a much needed shower, your eyes linger on the row of punching bags hanging from the ceiling near the wall. They varied in size and the three on the end had the Captain America shield imprinted on them which you assume meant they were designed for someone who can bench press several elephants.

The idea of boxing had always appealed to you especially given your father had done it when he was younger. He’d won championships and everything but gave it up the moment you came along, too worried something would happen to him in the ring and that he’d leave you and your mother alone. You’d always thought it would be nice for him to teach you but you weren’t sure how to broach the subject without reminding him that it’s because of you he’d had to give up. 

Reaching out, you run your hand down the course material of the closest punching bag. You miss your father, you miss your entire family. The idea of going home, not to your crummy flat but to your actual childhood home is so tempting, but you shut down the thought almost as soon as it surfaces. You had work to do here first before you can even think about getting back the parts of your old life you miss most. 

Suddenly, you push your fist forward into the bag. The bag doesn’t even move and there’s a slight pain in your knuckles but it feels good so you do it again. Over and over, one fist after the other pushing into the sturdy bag until you feel breathless again. You didn’t realise you had all this built up rage inside you until you’d had this moment to channel it into something harmless. You get so caught up landing punch after punch despite the ache in your fingers, hearing nothing but your own desperate pants and your fingers pressing into the bag, until there’s the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you.

You spin around immediately, preparing to see Steve or Sam ready to berate you for over doing it, but instead there’s Bucky, his shoulders tensed as he hovers in the training room door. He’s dressed in all black training gear and in the singlet he’s wearing, you can see the long expanse of his metal arm right up to where it fuses to his shoulder. The harsh, red lines where flesh becomes metal is prevalent enough that you can see it with all this distance between you. 

He shifts, clearly noticing that your eyes have lingered, and you snap out of it to offer him a smile. In his flesh hand, he’s holding a training bag and the rigid line of his body tells you he’s currently at war with himself, trying to decide whether to turn and leave. 

“Bucky, hey. There you are.” You don’t bother trying to tone down the relief in your voice at seeing him, you want him to know that you’re glad he’s here even if he won’t quite meet your eyes. 

He gives a little nod, keeping his eyes off you as he nods towards the punching bag. “You know, you should have your hands wrapped if you’re not going to wear gloves. You’ll damage them, otherwise.”

Looking down at your hands, you notice your knuckles are already red and starting to swell. You grimace, before looking back at him with a small, teasing smile. “Alright hot shot. Got any other pointers for a beginner?”

He pauses, clearly unsure whether this is a good idea, until finally he drops his bag down with a decisive nod. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

You don’t hold back your grin and by the time he reaches the row of punching bags to stand beside you, he still won’t look at you but there’s a hint of a smile in his face too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back at work and uni now but still spending way too much time on this fic. i should be making better life choices but i simply won't. 
> 
> thanks for reading! ♡


	8. eight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where you and bucky have a heart to heart, only you're hiding yours a little.

> "Fragile and composed,  
>  I am breaking down again,  
>  I am aching now to let you in."  
>  _hurricane // fleurie_

Bucky’s head is tilted down as he winds the wrap around your left wrist several times. A section of hair has moved to fall across his face but it doesn’t hide the way his eyes remain focused on his task or how the crease between his eyebrows deepens as he works. You know you shouldn’t stare as shamelessly as you do, but it’s hard not to when this is the closest you’ve been to him. It’s too hard to look away from the delicate purple shading beneath his eyes and the curve of his rough jaw still covered in scruff. You find yourself entranced with the way his lips move as he wraps the raw skin of your knuckles, watching as they move as though he’s speaking without words.

He looks more exhausted than you remember and that’s saying something. Guilt gnaws in your stomach as you realise that what transpired between you would no doubt play a part in Bucky refusing sleep, too afraid of his mind and what it could cause him to do if left unattended. It doesn’t escape your notice that as he wraps up your hands, he does his best to touch you as little as possible. His metal hand touches you briefly, just enough to hold your arm steady, before he jerks it away. The tension in his shoulders remain, that tight line that leaves his movements stiff and calculated. 

“Bucky?” Your voice sounds strange after the silence that has stretched out between you and is met with a low noise in Bucky’s throat, rough but questioning. He keeps his eyes and fingers on your hands and you lower your eyes to do the same. “You know… You know that I’m not frightened of you, right?”

Bucky’s fingers go still and you look to his face, noticing the muscle ticking in his jaw and the way his eyes have gone distant.

Undeterred, you push on. You need him to hear this. “I mean it. I’m not scared of you, regardless of what happened the other night.”

When he speaks, his tone is one of defeat. “You should be.” Absently, Bucky’s fingers drift from your hands to brush against the faint yellows and greens staining the skin of your forearm. The bruise had healed up quickly with the help of the ointment Bruce had given you. You would’ve forgotten about it entirely if it wasn’t for the guilt it stirred up within you every time you caught sight of it. The pad of Bucky’s index finger is warm as he traces the faint outline of his metal fingers on your skin. “I hurt you.”

The admission comes out less than a whisper as his finger continues to gently ghost along your forearm. You’re suddenly aware of how close you are, how you can feel his breath against your fingertips with his head ducked.

“You didn’t mean to, Bucky,” you murmur, keeping yourself still under his touch. 

It’s clearly the wrong thing to say as Bucky jerks his hand away as though he’s suddenly aware of what he’s doing. He takes a step back, both hands curled into fists at his sides. “That doesn’t matter. I keep doing it. I keep hurting people and it’s not…” His voice breaks then and he shakes his head. “It’s not right.”

“Bucky, you could’ve twisted my arm into a pretzel and removed it from my body but you didn’t. Considering the circumstances, that shows a huge amount of restraint. You might not think so but… it’s progress. It is. And I’m fine, truly.”

Bucky blinks, once, twice, and then there’s that crease between his eyebrows again. When he looks up at you, his eyes are troubled, echoing how he looked that night as though he’s replaying the memory in his mind. “You didn’t see your face. You didn’t see how… how terrified you looked.”

Under the intensity of his gaze and the self-hatred dripping from his words, you can’t find the words to speak. There’s so much you want to say, a confession around the truth of that night you want to spill but there’s something stopping you. Perhaps you are afraid, just not in the way Bucky thinks. In your lack of words, you find yourself taking a step forward, unsure exactly what you want to achieve only Bucky moves with you to maintain the distance put between you both. He shakes his head again, turning away. 

“They might have managed to get the words out of my brain, but the memories are still there. Every goddamn inhumane thing I did, swirling around in my mind and making me unstable. I’m still the weapon they made me, only worse because I don’t know what’s going to set me off.” He looks up at you then, grey eyes helpless, and you realise there’s a tremor to his shoulders. “I’m dangerous, you need to realise that. The fact that I could’ve killed you that night, that should speak for itself. You should be keeping your distance, not… not doing this.” He gestures to the space between you which leaves you frowning. 

You stand up a little straighter, his words only making you steadfast in your belief. “Bucky, do you want to hurt me? Or kill me?”

He stops, his forehead creasing only momentarily before he shakes his head. “No. Of course not.”

“Do you want me to be afraid of you?”

He shakes his head again, his fingers curling in and out of fists now. “No. I don’t want anyone to be afraid of me. But it’s the safer option.”

“Because you don’t trust yourself?”

He looks directly in your eyes then, his voice steady. “Yes. I can’t trust myself, I won’t, and nobody else should either.”

You nod at this, pressing your teeth into your bottom lip as you consider what he’s said. “Well, Steve trusts you.”

Bucky lets out a sudden snort, his lips twisting into something between a grimace and a smile. “Steve’s never done one damn thing that’s good for him. He’s got a history of throwing himself into things that will get him killed.”

“Maybe he thinks you’re worth it,” you say gently, taking a half-step forward. Bucky eyes you warily but he doesn’t move away this time. “In fact, I’m almost certain he does.”

“I can’t say I agree. I’ve put him through a lot. I’ve hurt a lot of people.”

You give him a little smile. “I feel like there’s a ‘but’ there.”

He looks down at where his metal hand is relaxing out of a fist. “But I want to be better,” he admits, his voice so quiet you nearly miss it. “I want that so much but it feels impossible.”

“It’s not. I’m not saying it’s easy, but it’s not impossible. The fact that you want that at all speaks volumes. And Bucky?” You wait until his eyes return to yours. “I’m sorry for what they did to you. That they took pieces of you that you’ll never get back. But all those fuckers that messed with you, they’re dead now. You’re still here. That means you won. And you will get better, slowly but you’ll get there. They didn’t get everything you have.”

The silence in the air is as intense as Bucky’s eyes on you. His eyes, grey and uncertain, search yours and you hold his gaze, keeping your face open and honest. He’s looking for something in you then, perhaps something that betrays an ulterior motive or some way that your words are deceitful but you let him search. Finally, he blinks and gives one small, decisive nod. 

While small, it’s something, and you feel a smile build on your face. The moment passes and Bucky’s gaze moves away from you making it easier to breathe. You remember where you are, your hands wrapped and ready as a new type of adrenaline runs through you.

“Alright then, onto the next thing. You telling me all the ways my form is off,” you say, twisting your body away from him to mime punching the air playfully. 

He doesn’t smile, but there’s a lightness to his eyes as he shakes his head and moves to position himself beside you with his body moving into a boxing stance. It feels like a win to you as you eagerly take in everything he has to say and everything that he doesn’t, happy just to have him here and to know you hadn’t royally fucked up everything between you and the first person you considered a friend in this place. 

*******

Later that night, you sit on your kitchen counter, braiding damp hair off your face as you wait for your tea to brew. You’d taken a long, hot shower after your session with Bucky in an attempt to relax your aching muscles and you felt happily exhausted, knowing you wouldn’t have much trouble getting a good night’s sleep in tonight. 

Securing your braid with a hair tie, you slid off the counter and spread your legs shoulder width apart. Crouching slightly, you bring your arms up in front of you in loose fists with your left fist close to your face, your right slightly in front, just as Bucky had taught you. You throw a gentle punch, twisting your arm as you did with your body following through before immediately reprimanding yourself and reshuffling your feet. One foot slightly behind to twist on as you throw the punch. You could almost hear Bucky in your ear reminding you of this, the solid wall of his chest against your back as he walked you through the motion. 

A flush runs through you at the thought, enough to have you dropping out of your stance and rubbing at your heated cheeks. A quiet laugh slips out at the thought of you getting flustered over something as trivial as how close Bucky was standing to you. 

“Where is your mind right now?” you murmur, shaking your head as you turn your attention back to your tea and away from such ridiculous behaviour. 

Before you can berate yourself any longer, an alert sounds and a message is projected onto the fridge. It's from Bruce, letting you know that Wanda is back from her mission and has agreed to meet up with you tomorrow. It's enough to bring you back to the reality of your situation. Bruce is still doing all he can to help you navigate through your new abilities but he believes that the person best equipped to help is Wanda, given your abilities are along the same vein of her own. You’d agreed at the time, knowing Bruce was right and feeling safe in this decision knowing Wanda was away for an indefinite time but now that the time has come, you felt slightly nauseous at the thought. Knowing how to control your abilities is necessary but what will happen while trying to get that control? As much as you don’t want to be, you are afraid of what you can do. 

You’re afraid of what it makes you.

You couldn’t even tell Bucky why you’d been so afraid that night, and you hated yourself for it. It could ease his guilt, make him understand that you didn’t view him as the monster he sees himself, and yet you’d stayed silent today. The truth was, you’re afraid of yourself and to speak about it aloud made it all the more real. 

The message disappears but you stay where you are, your tea forgotten on the counter. It’s only a sudden knock to your front door that brings you around, making you jump and curse lightly as you make your way to the door. Your whole body is on guard in that moment, you didn’t get visitors to your apartment at least not without a warning message first a la Tony Stark, so you can’t help the way your heart beats frantically under your sleep shirt.

Taking a moment to compose yourself, you open the door slowly and peer around it. You don't expect to find Bucky standing there, dressed down in his sweatpants and threadbare shirt with his hair pulled back off his face, but there he is. He’s freshly showered and the scruff that had been collecting along his jaw earlier has been tidied up, leaving him looking a little more like the man you remember from your history textbooks. 

In that moment, your traitorous brain reminds you of how it felt to have him behind you, his voice steady in your ear as one hand hovered in the space just above your hip, close enough to feel the heat of his palm as he manoeuvred your body into position. It’s entirely unfair, is what it is. 

You lean against the open door, trying your best to seem composed. “So,” you begin, Bucky’s eyes snapping to you instantly, “Here’s a hypothetical for you: can super soldiers read minds per chance?”

Bucky’s forehead furrows. “Not that I’m aware of, no. Can’t say I’ve ever done it.”

You breathe out, the smile growing on your face one of both relief and mirth at your own inane mind. “Good, good. Great. Excellent. Yes. So! Are you coming in then?” You push the door open a little wider and gesture inside. 

He hesitates for only a moment before nodding and shuffling through the door, his eyes searching through your apartment. You wait, watching as he takes in all the possible exit points before situating himself so that his back is no longer to the door but to a wall instead. Finally, he looks back at you and looks almost… sheepish. His mouth twitches, searching for words, and then finally,

“You haven’t read ahead, have you? With Harry Potter?”

A smile takes over your face, a sort of happiness bubbling inside you as you shut the door behind you. “I promised I wouldn’t, didn’t I? I’ll go grab it, you just make yourself comfortable.”

This is Bucky trying, in the best ways he knows how. It makes you want to be a little braver and as you disappear into your room to find the novel in question, you make a promise with yourself that it’s time for you to start really trying too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm honestly floored by how lovely you all are. the comments i received on the last chapter were so, so wonderful and i'm amazed by all the love this story is getting so thank you, thank you, thank you for reading this and enjoying it. it makes me very happy.
> 
> on another note, there are some truly horrible things happening in the world but i hope that wherever you are, you are safe and know you are so loved and so important. ♡


	9. nine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which sam smirks and knows things, and you and wanda have an unfortunate first meeting.

> "I will never leave you in the dark,  
>  gave you the center of my heart,  
>  the only one who shines a light on me.  
>  If you're leaving for somewhere,  
>  no matter what you do I will be with you, oh, oh, oh."  
>  sinking ship // seafret

The pounding in your head is rapidly growing as you step back, closing your eyes and pressing your hands to your temples. You can almost feel the pulsing under your fingertips and you choke out a groan when the voice in front of you barks out another order.

“Focus! Look at me and try again.”

You open your eyes, fighting against your swirling vision to stare at Wanda. Instead of seeing the features of the slight, dark-haired woman across from you, you see her only in varying shades that intensifies the pain in your head. 

A stab of something close to hatred ripples through you, though you know it’s unjustified. Only hours earlier, you had been anxious yet somewhat excited at the thought of meeting Wanda Maximoff. Not only because the abilities she had were close to your own and the self-control she possessed in regards to them left you awed, but because the idea of being around someone closer to your age was a nice one. 

The day leading up to this had been a good one, despite the knot of anxiety slowly tightening as the afternoon drew near. You’d managed to get through nearly half of the _Philosopher’s Stone_ with Bucky the night before, waking up tucked under a blanket on the couch and unsurprised that the man in question was absent, before getting a training session in with Sam and Steve. Even though it still felt like they were hell bent on breaking you physically, the work out had made you feel ready for your afternoon session with Wanda and you’d made your way to Bruce’s lab in high spirits, cheerfully flipping off Sam and Steve’s playful taunts that you were skipping out of training early.

Wanda had seemed equally as apprehensive to meet you as you were her but her smile was genuine when you walked into the lab to introduce yourself. You spent some time discussing what you knew of your abilities so far with Bruce offering his insight and allowing Wanda to take a look at the scans you’d had done. Finally, when it had come time for talking to end, you’d followed Wanda into a section of Bruce’s lab that was essentially an empty room, removing all distractions as she asked you to focus on her.

It’s been twenty minutes since then and your chest ached with how much you wanted to stop. Wanda didn’t let up, constantly pushing you to keep focusing on her and sifting through your mind, to study the colours that surround her. Regardless of her ruthless persistence, you restrain yourself from completely giving in. Your body is a frenzy of emotion, half terrified you will hurt the woman in front of you, and from past experience, you knew heightened emotions make you careless with your power. 

Maybe Wanda knows that too. Maybe it’s what she’s aiming for.

“Stop fighting it,” Wanda growls. “Whatever you throw at me, I can handle it. You’re not going to get anywhere if you let yourself be afraid of what’s in your mind. Now, actually focus. Look at the colours, feel what they mean.”

You swallow, letting your shoulders slump as you look over to where Bruce stands on the other side of the glass, watching intently. He gives you a reassuring nod and when you look back at Wanda, you really look at her. She appears as shades of brown and maroon, with flashes of blazing red and cold black shadows. With a deep inhale, you begin to probe deeper into these shades and you immediately notice the change in Wanda’s face, her mouth falling open with a noise of surprise. Lightly tugging at the brightest shade of red, a flash of vicious, burning anger runs through you. It’s intense enough that you have to twist your body away, breaking your concentration and severing the tie between yourself and Wanda.

When you can finally turn back to her, she’s smiling. 

“There you go, much better,” she praises, twisting a ring around her index finger thoughtfully. There’s something close to wonder in her voice as she continues, “I could feel it, I could feel you right in my chest and in my mind. It’s my emotions you’re plucking, but they’re anchored to certain memories. It’s… fascinating.”

“You mean I can… manipulate what you’re feeling?”

“Possibly, yes. But I think what you just did was intensify a feeling I already have. That’s certainly an ability to have, I mean, almost everyone has experienced some sort of suffering and for you to be able to turn it all the way up when it’s needed… Well, that will give you an upper hand.”

You frown. “I don’t want to use it against people. I just want to be able to control it so I’m not… doing it when I don’t mean to.” A memory flashes up in front of you of the man in the street who had come too close when you’d been terrified, how you could only see him in colours and ended up leaving him screaming. Without realising, you must’ve tapped into some past hurt and made it excruciating for him. 

“You will,” Wanda says brightly. “It takes time and dedication and a lot of focus, but you will get there. When I got my abilities, I was terrified and this was even after I consented to it. I suddenly had all this power I didn’t have before, power that could hurt, and the angry part of me felt reckless with it. I wanted to hurt those who had wronged me and suddenly I had the ability to do so. Anger and fear aren’t all that different, you see, and both of them need to be understood to be overcome.” She pauses, pressing her lips together in a soft, contemplating smile. “It helps to be surrounded by people who want to help you. Good people, who make you want to be better.”

The image of Bucky standing in your doorway, afraid of hurting those around him but still trying regardless, flashed in your mind and warmth settled in your chest. You suddenly feel a little steadier and when you look to Wanda again, there’s the hint of something knowing there. She claps her hands together, giving you a nod. 

“Like I said, it’s going to take time and you can’t shy away from it. Embrace it, learn it, control it. Let’s go again.”

You stand up straight and focus on the colours surrounding Wanda once more. Looking closer, you can almost feel what each colour represents without having to tug. There’s sadness in different intensities, but happiness too that helps ease it, and anger seems to be a common occurrence. It’s when you get to the darkest shade that you can’t quite figure it out and before you realise, you’ve let yourself pull on it, opening the feeling inside your own chest. 

It’s a harrowing feeling that spills into you. It’s excruciating in the same way Bucky’s nightmare had left you paralysed, only it isn’t so much a physical hurt as something so terribly hollow inside you, it leaves you in numb agony. It feels like being submerged into water and knowing that there’s no way to breech the surface, being buried alive and feeling yourself lose your last breath, being lost in the dark with no way home. It is every quiet terror one has all rolled into one, leaving you weak with this all-encompassing blackness surrounding you. 

You stumble back, overwhelmed and gasping at this pain gnawing at your conscience. It leaves your body trembling as you sink to your knees, too weak to hold yourself up as you look up to Wanda, only to find that the tear tracks you felt on your cheeks mirror her own. Her body is shaking more violently than your own, her eyes damp and frantic, and you can’t speak with the cold wash of guilt that comes over you.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t…”

Wanda shakes her head, trying to hold back the tears. “It’s… You didn’t… I didn’t expect that to…” She shakes her head. “My brother. My twin brother Pietro. He’s gone and that’s the hole left inside of me.”

More tears began to spill from Wanda’s face and while there’s a part of you that wants to make things better, to comfort her and make things as right as you can, the bigger part of you decides to run instead. It’s what you’re good at after all, running from the things that feel too real and too much. You hear Bruce’s voice calling from behind you but it doesn’t slow you down as you run from the lab, hoping Bruce remains with Wanda so she doesn’t have to be alone as you flee back to your apartment. 

It’s there that you spent the rest of the evening. Not sleeping, not moving, not doing anything other than despise yourself. The darkness pressing against the windows had been present for hours when there’s a knock on your door but you don’t move to get up and open it, merely searching out for the clock beside your bedside table that tells you it’s nearing 11.

The knocking stops and you remain still, hoping whoever it is has given up. After a moment’s silence, Bucky’s voice comes through the door as he calls your name in his quiet but steady voice. 

“Damn,” you murmur, closing your eyes. Your face feels tight from the tears that have dried there and it’s only a matter of time before another tide comes around to drown you again. There’s no way you can be around Bucky right now, yet already you’re getting up off your bed and moving to the front door. You don’t open it, merely pressing your palms to the smooth surface in front of you. Bucky whispers your name softer this time. With his super solider hearing, he must know there’s only a door between you both.

Taking in a breath, you go to respond but nothing comes out. You want to apologise, to tell him that now is not a good time, but the words won’t come. There’s a tremble in your chest as you fight back another wave of tears, hating the fact that after all this time spent trying to bring Bucky closer, to make him see you weren’t a threat or something to run from, you're pushing him away now. 

“Are you okay?” His voice sounds closer now, gentle in a way that makes you feel even guiltier for not even being able to speak to him. Flashes of Wanda’s face rush through your mind, the sound of her holding back sobs a constant in your ears. 

Bucky wouldn’t make you talk about it. You know that for a fact, that if you were to open the door now and let him in, he would let you sit in silence and not force you say a single word because he would understand. But you can’t trust yourself right now with your emotions this intense. You’re a loose cannon and Bucky’s sure to set you off, no matter how kind his intentions are.

“Okay,” Bucky says, his voice low and definite. You can imagine him on the other side of the door, nodding with that line between his eyebrows. “If you… If you need someone…” He trails off then, seeming at a loss. 

There’s a moment’s pause and then he’s whispering out a good night. You count the seconds in a minute, then another to give him enough time to leave before you release the shuddering sigh you’ve been holding on to. As you lean forward to press your forehead to the door, you realise you’re crying again and that should infuriate you, to be this weak, sobbing mess when you aren’t a victim here, but the exhaustion in your body keeps you from any real frustration. After waiting long enough for the beating in your chest to settle, you return to your bedroom, falling into your bed in the hopes of finally achieving sleep as a way to avoid the non-stop churning of thoughts in your mind. 

It takes hours, in fact, it feels like you don’t even sleep. It’s only when a sudden knock sounds through your apartment that you realise you’d drifted off, leaving you groaning as you roll to bury your face in your pillow. The programmed shades began to lift to allow the sunlight to push through the window and the knocking on the door only gets more persistent as you spill muffled curses. 

Unable to ignore it any longer, you roll from your bed and bring the comforter with you, wrapping it around yourself until only your face peeks out to keep safe from the morning chill. Sleep or no, you feel horrid and quite ready to spend the rest of your day cocooned in your comforter, if only whoever had the audacity to knock on your front door would take a hint.

Fixing on your best glare, you throw open the front door to find Sam looking far too chipper which instantly has you on guard. 

“Good morning sunshine and can I say, don’t you look radiant this morning?” He grins, sloping to one side to rest easily against the door frame.

Despite his cheerful demeanour, your mouth curves into a frown. “Sam. You realise what time it is, right?”

“Mhmm. Breakfast time. Most important meal of the day! You in or are you in?”

“I don’t normally get a personal invitation,” you point out, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. “So what gives?”

Sam doesn’t break, doesn’t even give an inch even though you both know what’s changed. “You coming to breakfast in that blanket nest or are you going to get changed first? Cap may be catching up with modern times, sure, but he still thinks it’s improper to attend breakfast in your pyjamas. And comforters.”

“Sam…”

He holds up a hand, waving away your protest. “What, you don’t like waffles? That’s what I’m making and nobody turns down my waffles. You want to be the first?” Sam adopts a look that is so heartbroken and ridiculous that you can’t fight the upwards tick of your mouth as you shake your head. He instantly grins. “Yes, there it is! So how about it?”

You sigh, shuffling to pull your comforters tighter around you. “Sorry Sam. I appreciate the effort but I’m really not… I don’t really feel much like being around people today.”

Sam studies you for a moment, before giving a slight nod. “Say no more. I get it.” Relief floods through you until Sam’s grinning again, saying, “I’ve got something better in mind but you’ve got to lose the comforters.”

“I – Sam, when I said I didn’t want to be around people, I…”

“… didn’t mean me, I know, of course, I’m awesome. Come on, get changed, go!” 

You sigh, eyeballing him carefully. “Nothing I say is going to make any difference, is it?”

“Not a jot,” Sam confirms. “So, are you going to come quietly?"

In response, you give him only an unenthused grunt before shuffling off to your bedroom to shed the comforter and find something to wear. Sam lets himself in behind you, stretching himself out on the couch in the living room with a self-satisfied chuckle. Moments later, you emerge in joggers and a sweatshirt to find Sam flicking through your copy of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone_ which you’d left on the coffee table from two nights ago. 

“Did you know,” Sam begins, still leafing through the pages, “that you had a super solider camping out on your front door step this morning?”

“Come again?” you ask, pausing where you had your hands in the middle of twisting your hair up into a messy bun. 

Sam chucks the book back onto the coffee table, twisting around to raise an eyebrow at you. “When I showed up this morning, he was sitting up beside your door looking like hell, as per usual. Thought maybe he was in the dog house or something. Took off the minute he saw me coming around but then that’s not uncommon either.” He smirks then, shrugging one shoulder. 

You stop, raising an eyebrow at Sam. “… What are you saying?” 

He holds his hands up. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Just, if you need me to kick his ass, I’ll do it. I’d do it anyway but at least this way I have an excuse if Cap asks questions.”

“Easy does it,” you murmur, shaking your head with a little frown. As if you didn’t have enough emotions to contend with, now a heavy helping of guilt settles on your chest at the thought of Bucky standing post outside your apartment. _If you… If you need someone…_ “I didn’t realise,” You admit, ducking your head. “He came around last night to check in and I sent him away. I thought he’d left. I guess… I guess he didn’t.”

Sam nods, offering you a tiny smile before clearing his throat. “Well, keep in mind that ass kicking offer. You can cash that in whenever.” When you give him a look, he merely shrugs again. “Fine, fine. Shall we go then? Race ya down to the foyer. Loser-buys-the-coffee-and-go!”

“Sam! Wait - not fair!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you believe real life has the audacity to get between me and this fic??? unacceptable. didn't help that i just couldn't quite get this chapter right. half a dozen rewrites later and here we are folks.
> 
> if you're still here, you are grand. thank ya for reading! ♡


	10. ten.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which sam takes you out for fresh air and you want the same for bucky.

> "Did you see the sparks, feel the hope,  
> that you are not alone?   
> 'Cause someone's out there, sending out flares."  
> flares // the script 

“Okay, care to fill me in on how this is the ‘better idea’? We’re in a park, filled with people.” Huffing, you turn to Sam for an explanation. “If you give me some crock about fresh air making me feel better, I’m leaving right now.”

Sam snickers behind his takeaway coffee cup before downing the last of it and shoving it into a nearby bin. “Thanks for the coffee, slowpoke,” he offers instead, turning off the path to head down the knoll toward the clearing. 

“Not that you deserve it, you cheating fiend,” you mutter as you follow him onto the grassy stretch.

It’s half eight on a Tuesday morning and despite your earlier exaggeration, this section of the park only holds a handful of people walking dogs and going about their morning runs. A couple of business women powerwalk past, each holding leather briefcases and travel mugs that steam in the morning cold, both looking Sam over with an approving eye before moving on. You glance at Sam to see if he’s noticed before catching the smirk on his face, leaving you rolling your eyes.

“Alright, alright, tone it down with the non-verbal attitude, you’re killing me,” Sam says. He slips off the backpack that had been hanging on one shoulder and rummages through it. When he finds what he’s looking for, he holds it up triumphantly. “Ah ha! This is what we’re here for.”

You stare at him, the seconds passing silently but Sam’s smile doesn’t waver. Finally, you break. “You dragged me out here to play Frisbee? Seriously?”

“What have you got against Frisbee?” 

“Nothing, I just thought… I don’t know. I thought maybe you had some big lesson planned to show me I need to pull my head out of my ass or… something.” You shrug, squinting up at where the sun had managed to emerge past a cloud to filter in through the surrounding trees. Whether it was Sam’s intention or not, the feel of sun on your skin and being away from the Avengers’ Tower for the first time in weeks is already making it feel easier for you to breathe. Not that you’re about to admit that out loud.

Sam snorts. “Do I look like a little red dragon sent by your ancestors to guide you? Sorry Mulan, but if you’re looking for some sort of lecture or riveting speech, try the big man with the shield. He’s perfect for that soul-rallying crap.”

A laugh bursts out of you before you can stop yourself. It’s hard to hold onto the guilt and self-loathing that’s swirling beneath your surface when the sun’s peeking through the clouds to colour the park in a golden morning glow and Sam’s looking at you with such a disgruntled expression. 

“Alright, alright, point taken. I guess running around in a park after a plastic disc is better than talking anyway,” you admit, pushing up the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “Well, bring it on, Mushu.”

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Sam grins, tossing away his backpack and moving backwards to put space between you both. “There goes any chances of me going easy on you, kid. Game on!”

Sam immediately hurls the neon purple Frisbee at your head, the disc whizzing at you so quickly that you instinctively duck out of the way. It sails over your crouched form to land soundlessly on the grass a few feet away as Sam lets out a bellow. Glaring at him, you rush over and pick up the Frisbee to toss it back with even more force, causing Sam to have to jump. He catches it in one hand, twisting awkwardly as he rolls his body up to avoid an uncomfortable landing. He still gets a face full of dirt but that doesn’t stop him holding up the Frisbee to wave it about victoriously. A proper smile begins to grow on your face as you gear up for Sam’s next throw, ready and waiting as it comes sailing back in your direction.

Time passes easily, filled with friendly jeers and uncontrollable laughter as you toss the Frisbee back and forth between each other. The sun manages to avoid any further clouds, illuminating the park in a dazzling light that could almost be mistaken for summer, and people mill about on their breaks with the buzz of conversation and the happy yips of playful dogs sounding out around you. By the time you both start to tire, your body is aching in the best way. You feel loose and happy, even while covered in grass stains and dirt, and you can’t quite stop yourself smiling as Sam tosses the Frisbee to you one last time. You catch it between two hands and lob it straight back, twisting your wrist slightly to make the Frisbee veer off in one direction. Sam’s not expecting it and so he leaps forward with his arms outstretched, missing it and ending up stretched along the grass.

He lifts his head to cast you a dirty look. “Dishonour on you, dishonour on your cow.”

His voice is completely deadpan and it’s enough to have you in stitches. You can barely help him up with how the laughter spills from your body, your shoulders shaking and tears forming in your eyes as Sam tries to keep up the act, only for a smile to slip through. He grabs the Frisbee and chucks it back into his backpack before the boisterous Labrador that had been eyeing it up can take it for himself.

“Feeling better then?” Sam asks, leading you back towards the path as you try and settle your laughter. “Laughing at my misfortune?”

Wiping at your eyes, you give him an honest smile. “It’s a noble sacrifice you made,” you agree, before nudging your elbow to his. “Thanks Sam. There’s still a lot going on upstairs but I do feel better despite it.”

Sam nods. “If only a morning of Frisbee could solve all our problems,” he says wistfully. He pauses then, giving you a sideways glance as his expression grows serious. “I know I said before that I wasn’t big on the whole pep talk thing but the truth is… Tony didn’t just assign me to help you with your training because I’m awesome, you know.”

“Don’t forget modest,” you add, though the humour doesn’t quite reach your voice. “Why else, then?”

Sam stopped on the path to face you. “Do you know what I do when I’m not being The Falcon or making you run laps?”

“You help veterans,” you answer. You knew that about Sam before you’d ever met him. It was only a few years ago that he’d come to your school on Veterans Day to give a talk on the post-traumatic stress disorders many veterans faced and how it hindered them from returning to civilian life. He had spoken so passionately and you remember thinking that behind his wisdom and easy charisma, there had been a sadness there he couldn’t shake. “Sam, you can’t… I don’t have PTSD. God, I haven’t been through half the things any of those veterans have had to go through. Or you. Or Steve. Or… Bucky. The things he’s had to experience…”

“Post-traumatic stress is not exclusive to service men and women, kid. You don’t have to fight in a war to experience it,” Sam says gently. You see it again now, that distant sadness in his eyes that makes you ache with a need to do anything to remedy it. “And pain, suffering? It’s not a competition. Maybe you aren’t experiencing it, but you can’t deny that you’ve undergone something that’s changed your whole life, taken you from your support system, and left you scared of yourself.”

You can’t speak, you can’t even fathom what you could say in response to that. Instead, you stare helplessly until Sam reaches out to squeeze your shoulder with a tiny smile. 

“All I’m saying is that if you did want to maybe talk things out or just be around someone who understands these things, I’m here for you. I wasn’t kidding around before, I’m not good at those inspiring speeches but I’m here regardless. Even if just to verse you in a Frisbee rematch to get your mind off things.”

With an undignified sniff, you offer Sam a watery smile. “Thanks Sam. I appreciate that.”

“’Course,” he nods. “Well, with that settled – race you back to the Tower-and-go!”

“Samuel!”

*******

It’s in the elevator on your way back to your apartment that you bump into Bucky unexpectedly. Unsurprisingly, Sam had beat you back to the Tower with a good ten minutes to spare and had gloated about it in the lobby until you’d flipped him off and headed for the elevator, ready for a shower and a cup of tea, only for the elevator to make a stop for Bucky, post-work out, to step in. His hair is loose and slicked to his neck with sweat, with his metal arm hidden beneath the grey hoodie he’s wearing but you notice the way he repositions himself so that the arm is angled behind him when he spots you. 

There’s a brief moment where you think he’s going to let the elevator go but then he steps in, ducking his head towards you. There’s a quiet whisper of guilt when you smile at him, suddenly feeling very sorry for blocking him out yesterday. He looks exhausted, though it’s nothing new, but the dark circles and the weariness of his eyes makes you feel even worse. 

When you look over to him again, you notice he’s eyeing your current state – green grass stains all over your knees and elbows with dirt smudges down your front – in that quiet, contemplating way of his.

“Sam’s fault,” you explain, pointing to yourself. You can only imagine how wild your hair looks, with half of it spilling from its bun to fall down your neck. “He dragged me out for a game of Frisbee.”

There’s a quiet look of amusement on Bucky’s face as he nods. “You look like you enjoyed it.”

“Surprisingly, yeah. Got me out of my own head for a while and to be outside, in the sun… Don’t tell Sam this but he definitely had the right idea,” you say, lowering your voice conspiringly as Bucky nods again and you notice the slight change in his features. If anything, he looks almost… wistful which leaves you wondering how often Bucky got to get away from here, if at all. 

“Please say you won,” Bucky says, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “You’ll never hear the end of the bragging otherwise.”

“Err, about that.” You make a face. “I’m calling for a re-match and when it happens, you should play on my side. Sam can have Cap, but I’m positive you and I can take them down. What do you say?”

That hint of a smile on Bucky’s face had begun to grow as you explained your re-match plans, only for it to suddenly disappear after a quiet moment. He gives a little shrug, ducking his head away and allowing more of his hair to cover his face. “Maybe,” is all he gives you, his voice suddenly reserved. His shoulders have come up now, tension evident as the fingers of his flesh hand twitch back and forth. You instantly pick up on his anxious energy, not even needing the colours to tell you so.

“Well, think on it. We could have Sam eating his words, he was going on before about being the best Frisbee player in the world. _In the world!_ ” You roll your eyes with a little laugh in an attempt to steer the conversation away from whatever had unsettled him. “Hey, did you know the theme for dinner tonight is Taco Tuesday? I didn’t even realise that was a thing here but I can never resist a good taco. Or a bad one, actually, now that I think about it. Are you coming?”

“I don’t think so,” Bucky murmurs, his eyes no longer on you but focused forward at the elevator doors. The elevator is beginning to slow down, signalling the arrival of your floor.

You try not to look disappointed at this. As casual as you’re trying to sound, tonight is the first night you’d have to face a proper dinner with the rest of the team and if Bucky were there, it wouldn’t feel so overwhelming. “Tony’s making me go, says I have to be social and all and be a team player, whatever that means.” You give him a little teasing smile. “How did you get out of it, hmm?”

Bucky looks at you then, his face calm as he tells you, “I think Tony prefers for me to keep my distance as much as possible.” The way he says it actually hurts, with how at peace he sounds with his own isolation.

“Oh,” you say, as the elevator comes to a stop and the doors open onto your floor. A part of you wishes you’d just kept your mouth shut because you’re certain you’ve dredged up something else Bucky would prefer not to think about. Yet rather than escape the elevator and the potential to dig yourself a deeper hole, you step forward to stand in the range of the sensor to keep the elevator doors open and turn back to look at Bucky. “Well, I’ll miss you being there,” you tell him honestly, causing that small line to appear between his eyebrows as he stares back at you, wordlessly. You continue, “You’ll come round tonight, yeah? I’m sorry about last night, it was just a… just one of those not so good days, but I’m up for some more Hogwarts shenanigans if you are?”

Bucky blinks before an actual smile curves the corners of his mouth, only slightly, but enough to make him look much less exhausted as he nods. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good. I’ll catch you later then, Bucky.” 

You step backwards out of the elevator and give a little wave. When the doors shut, you’re left looking at your reflection in the metal. As expected, your hair is a mess, windswept with a couple leaves caught in it, your cheeks are red from both exertion and being out in the cold, and your eyes are bright. You realise you look happy in a way you haven’t felt in a while. Tugging the leaves free from your hair, you make your way to your apartment and try to hold on to this feeling of lightness and not the swirling anxiety and guilt beginning to come to life in your stomach at the thought of dinner tonight and facing Wanda again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a pretty firm head canon that sam wilson is a disney buff and that he's made steve sit down and watch all his favourites. you can't tell me otherwise.
> 
> also i got a few chapters written today which were mostly fluff so knowing my sadistic brain, there will be angst in the future to even that shit out. such fun!


	11. eleven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally meet Clint, and Steve gets something off his chest.

> "We're taking turns at shattering apart.  
>  At least we're taking turns.  
>  How did we get so good at dismantling these hearts?  
>  How did we ever get so good?"  
>  hourglass // sleeping at last __

__

__

By the time evening rolls around, you’d already considered half a dozen excuses to get out of going to dinner. The thought of it was daunting, to be around so many people at one time, but to see Wanda again, to see everyone even, and have them all know what you did makes you feel ill and shaky. You need to apologise, is the thing, and you want to which is the main motivating factor that has you getting dressed despite how much you’d prefer to hide in your apartment. 

You still have no idea exactly what you’ll say to Wanda when you see her tonight, something close to a dozen heartfelt apologies while trying not to cry, but the point is you have to say something. She deserves that much, after you paralysed her with her own grief. A shiver comes over you at the memory of you had felt when you tugged on that darkness inside Wanda. How someone can keep going with that much loss inside them… It makes you realise you only had a small taste of the emotions inside Bucky, only what he was feeling during that nightmare. If you had plucked at his colours like you had with Wanda, you feel it would completely destroy you.

Pushing these thoughts away, you step out of the elevator and square your shoulders with a deep breath. Already you can hear music drifting down the hallway from the common room, something with a lot of bass, along with the mingle of several conversations all happening at once. You tug at your sleeves, pulling them further down your hands before pushing yourself forward, knowing that if you wait any longer you’ll lose all nerve.

The common room is completely transformed from how you remember it in your mind. You’re so used to seeing it in the middle of the night, alone or with the company of only Bucky, that to see it filled with a handful of people, food and drink out everywhere, with the early evening light pouring in through the windows is quite the change. You hover in the doorway for a half a moment and the first person you settle your gaze on is Pepper Potts. She’s drinking something pink out of a wine glass that she raises at you with a little smile when she notices you looking. 

You smile back at Pepper, still in awe of the woman who seemed to run everything including Tony Stark, but you’re grateful when she’s pulled back into the conversation she’s having with Maria Hill as you know you probably won’t be able to get two words out together if she approaches you. You still remember her being the first person you saw when you woke up in the hospital ward of the Tower after being rescued from HYDRA’s lab. You hadn’t acted very kindly, scared out of your mind despite her calm voice trying to reassure you, and it’s enough to have you keeping your distance as the shame connected with that memory still burns. 

You aren’t given long to mull it over when there’s a man making his way towards you, a large grin strung across his face and his arms flung open.

“Finally! Newbie, what’s happening?” he yells, despite being only an arm’s length from you. 

“Err… It’s Clint, right?” you try, aware that most of the room has looked over with interest at Clint’s loud greeting.

“Yes ma’am,” he says. “And you are one competitive hide and seek player, I gotta tell you. I mean, I’m impressed but I’m also pissed because I had plenty of initiation pranks to throw at you.”

“So I heard. Sorry to disappoint but I’ve been here over two months, be a bit pointless to go through it all now,” you say, a small smile pulling at the corner of your lips.  


Clint barks a laugh. “You underestimate me, rookie, and my dedication to messing with people. You’re not really an Avenger unless I’ve made your life hell for a little bit. Not complete hell, of course, just a series of mild inconveniences so I know you’re worthy.”

He gives you an easy grin which would put you at ease, if not for what he had said about being an Avenger. It sits uncomfortably with you but before you can say anything against it, there’s an arm coming around your shoulder and Sam’s at your side, making a face at Clint.

“You’d better not be messing with her, Merida,” Sam says, jostling you gently. “I’ll have you know I’ve got dibs in that regard.”

Clint rolls his eyes. “What an inspired choice of nickname, Big Bird, it’s not like I haven’t heard that one from Stark at least half a dozen times.”

“Big Bird, ha! Look who’s talking, Hawky!”

“Alright, settle down birdbrains,” you say as you step between them, holding back laughter at the pseudo-heated direction this conversation has gone. They both scoff at you, looking mildly offended at the collective nickname which just makes you grin more. “Normally I would take a stand against being used as some sort of pawn in whatever this is, but the banter kind of makes it worth it. But there’s no need for any sort of initiation, I’m not an Avenger nor am I going to be.”

“Well not yet,” Clint agrees. “I think Peter Parker would probably web himself to the Empire State building in protest if you got your A card before him but in time, yeah.”

Sam nods, taking a sip from his beer bottle which makes you frown. 

You don’t even know where to begin with this. It’s never crossed your mind before now but your visceral reaction to it is enough to know exactly how you feel. For one thing, you can’t imagine yourself being able to control your abilities enough to use them on anyone nor would you ever want to. Just the memory of Wanda’s face and the screams of that man on the street is enough to make you want to return to hiding so that you can never put someone in that position again. Not to mention, it’s not in your life plans to become a superhero, even if you could harness your power in such a way. It’s not who you are. You want to be an English teacher, to grow the minds of tomorrow, and your goals beyond that are to live in a not-completely-crappy apartment and maybe get a cat. Not save the world. 

“That’s not going to happen,” you say firmly, and there’s something in your face that Sam and Clint recognise that makes them realise how serious you are, as they drop the subject instantly. 

“Fair enough,” Sam says easily. “Do you want a drink or something? Tony’s gone all out, as usual. It’s supposed to be a lowkey dinner but that man doesn’t know the meaning of the term.”

“And god bless him for it.” Clint has turned to where food and drink fill up the counters, a delicious blend of spices wafting over, and he clutches at his stomach. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get into that 7 layer dip before Bruce sniffs it out. He’s got the stomach of the big guy for sure. And hey, I’ll be seeing you around, newbie!” He gestures as much, pointing two fingers at his eyes then at you before flashing a grin and disappearing. 

Sam snorts, shaking his head before looking back at you. “So you good on that drink offer or?” 

Before you have a chance to answer, one of the researchers who you don’t recognise has called out to Sam, immediately pulling him into conversation. You’re about to follow Clint in the direction of the food, your own stomach rumbling, when you catch sight of Tony making his way towards you.

“So you made it then,” he greets. 

A little tug of affection comes over you at the sight of Tony, though it takes you by surprise. It has been a while since you last saw him, he’s been busy with all the PR around the destruction of the HYDRA lab and the media downfall that has come from it. You’d caught only glimpses of it on the telly when channel surfing, with the media saying all sorts of things about Tony and the Avengers, how they weren’t doing enough to keep the people safe from HYDRA and other nefarious forces. You’d changed the channels almost immediately, angry that people couldn’t see how much Tony Stark is trying to make things better and that if it weren’t for the Avengers, you’d still be in that laboratory or more likely, dead. For all you’d been afraid of Tony initially, you realise now you have a lot to be thankful to him for. 

Surprisingly both of you, you suddenly wrap your arms around Tony in a quick hug. When you pull away, Tony looks a little rattled but bounces back fast enough to shoot you a smirk.

“What is it about Mexican food that makes you handsy, huh?”

You make a face. “It’s just nice to see you, is all.”

Tony thinks on this for a moment before he’s nodding. “Yeah, it’s good to see you too, kid.” He opens his mouth to say something further but catches a glimpse of something over your shoulder that changes his whole demeanour. Whatever wall you’d pulled down with your hug, it has been replaced with several more as he turns back to you. “I’m off anyway, as it would happen, but I’ll stop by and see your training or something soon.”

“Wait.” You’re confused by his sudden change that you don’t even bother trying to think of a way to tell him that your training has been discontinued indefinitely. “The evening’s barely started and _the_ Tony Stark is skipping out?”

Tony shrugs. “Number one rule is to always leave while the party is good, trust me on that one. See you round, kid.”

Just like that, he’s gone, leaving you searching for the reason for his disappearance. Steve’s finally arrived, though he seems less like himself as he greets Bruce and Clint with little more than an upturn of his lips. Sam’s suddenly back at your side, pushing a glass bottle of Cola into your hand which you gratefully accept. 

“Is there something wrong between Cap and Tony?” you ask, looking to Sam. It has taken you until now to realise that you hadn’t seen them in the same room together, which seems unlikely given how the media presented them as the ultimate power duo and where one is, the other isn’t far behind. 

Sam gives a loud exhale. “That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. But yeah, there’s a lot of shaky ground between them at the moment with Bucky’s return. It’s probably going to take a lifetime for those wounds to heal.” He sighs, looking over to you and noticing the frown that had grown on your face. “But hey, it’s nothing for you to worry about. Just because the dads are fighting doesn’t mean they love you any less or that you’re at fault…”

You scoff, a sudden smile coming over you face as you elbow Sam in the ribs. “Jerk. I can see why Clint ditched your charming company for the 7 layer dip. Thinking I might do the same, actually.” With a little raise of your drink, you begin to drift in the direction of the food, looking back to stick your tongue out at Sam.

“Hey, rude!” Sam calls out, but he follows anyway as the two of you attempt to put a meal together out of anything Clint and Bruce haven’t already eaten. 

*******

A little over an hour later and you’re pretty sure at this point you’re made up off 99% tortilla and the tequila shots Clint had coerced you into. The room has gotten louder, with the music turned up for dancing causing the voices to increase and your vision has been swimming since the second shot. You’re not much of a drinker but there’s just something about Clint that’s hard to say no to. Could have something to do with your competitive side and the fact that you never know when to back down but alas, you’re now in search of some fresh air to help the dull thudding between your ears. 

You slip out the sliding door onto the balcony that’s blessedly empty, taking in the crisp evening air and releasing a sigh of relief. The sun’s beginning to set behind the buildings along the skyline, elongating their shadows to leave the city below in darkness while the sky turns a soft peach. You move further down the balcony to leave the noise spilling from the open door behind and it’s not until you reach the end that you realise you’re not alone at all. 

Sitting with his back against the building and his legs stretched out in front of him is Steve, balancing a sketchbook on his lap that he’s working on. It looks almost comical to see his large size squished down to fit such a small space, his feet touch the railing, but somehow you know you’ve stumbled on a scene where laughter isn’t welcome. In fact, you think the same goes for you and so you’re about to back it up when Steve looks up, offering you a quiet hello. 

“Steve, hey. Sorry to interrupt, I just needed some air. Which I’ve got now so I will just… go.”

He looks amused at this, though it doesn’t disrupt the sad blue in his eyes. Shaking his head, he pats the space beside him. “Nah, it’s okay. I could do with a bit of company if you’re offering.”

“Sure.” You settle beside him, a little clumsy from the tequila, and it’s a relief to have the solid frame of the Tower behind you to lean against. Glancing down, you take in the sketchbook on Steve’s lap – an incredibly accurate and detailed depiction of the city in front of you, right down to the shadows from the setting sun. “Whoa, Steve, that’s incredible! You’re amazing at this!”

“Thanks,” Steve murmurs, looking down at his sketch with a half-smile. 

“Seriously, forget about saving the world. I think art is your true calling,” you tell him, nudging your shoulder to his playfully. He smiles a little wider at this before the smile dissipates, leaving a forlorn look on his face that sobers you almost instantly. 

“Sometimes I wish I could,” Steve says, his voice just above a whisper. “Forget about saving the world. Just disappear and spend my days drawing. Seems easier.”

“Yeah, I guess it would be. But would it be enough for you?”

Sighing, Steve works a hand through his hair before brushing the hair of his fringe off his forehead. “I suppose not. Maybe I’m not built for a quiet life.”

The tone of his voice left your heart breaking. It feels wrong to see Steve Rogers, an American icon and actual superhero, look so small. Steve is the captain of the Avengers, he’s in charge of the missions and is always looking out for everyone, even you in the short time you’ve been here, but it leaves you wondering: who’s looking after him?

“Steve,” you begin, your voice soft. “I know we don’t know each other all that well just yet and I’m probably the last person you want to get into this with but I have to ask, are you… are you okay?”

He looks over to you, his forehead furrowed and his eyes searching your face as though he couldn’t quite understand the question or the motive behind it. Seconds pass and it looks as though he’s fighting with himself on how to answer, until eventually he gives a mirthless laugh and shrugs his shoulders. “I guess I’m trying to be. I mean, I have to be.”

“I take it no one’s told you that it’s perfectly okay to not be okay?” You shuffle closer to him then, to fight off the cold wind that’s starting to press against you and to show Steve that you’re there. “Because you don’t have to always be okay. No one ever can be. We’re only human and we’re prone to breaking down from time to time. And that includes super soldiers.”

Steve gives a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I guess you’ve got a point.”

The warmth radiating from Steve’s body is enough to keep you from shivering at the cool wind moving past and you’re comfortable where you sit, your head still quietly spinning, but as the minutes pass in silence, you figure Steve probably wants to be left to his own thoughts once more. You make an attempt to gather yourself to get up when Steve’s hand comes out to stop you. There’s a look on his face that you can’t quite read, somewhere along the lines of anxious and ashamed. 

“I have to ask you something and I wasn’t going to, I know I’m overstepping boundaries but I… I need to know,” he begins, focusing his gaze back on the sketchbook in front of him. “It’s about Bucky. Does he… Does Bucky talk to you at all? I mean, really talk to you. He spends so many evenings with you that I had to wonder if maybe… if maybe he was opening up to you at all.” The words fall from him in a rush and once they’re out, Steve looks furious with himself. 

You think of Bucky in the elevator earlier, reserved and quiet, just as he has been during many of the evenings you’d spent in each other’s company. But then you think of him wrapping your hands before boxing and how he’d opened himself up, just a little. The idea of betraying Bucky’s confidence is something you don’t even consider but looking at Steve and how he’s watching you with pleading eyes makes you sigh. 

“The short answer is yes and no. Sometimes he’ll… share things and other times he barely puts two words together.”

“He won’t talk to me,” Steve bites out, frustrated. “Not in the way I thought he would. I’m his best friend, I’m his family, and I want to help him but he just won’t let me in. Why is that? Why is he more comfortable talking with someone he barely knows than me?” He stops then, checking himself and giving you an apologetic look. “No offence.”

You wave it off. “None taken. I don’t know, Steve. Sometimes it’s harder to talk about the things that matter with the people closest to us. We’re afraid that the way they see us will change.”

“But it wouldn’t! I don’t care what he’s done, he’s _Bucky_. Nothing will change that.”

“All you can do is let him know that and let him decide when he’s ready. You can’t rush things like this. All in his own time.”

Steve nods, staring off the balcony with a pensive look. It’s obvious Steve would do whatever it takes to take away Bucky’s pain, to bring him back from himself, but it’s not up to Steve. You think of Bucky’s determined look, the way he’d marched himself to your apartment despite how much he wanted to keep his distance, and you know it’s only him who can bring himself back. That in fact, it’s his right to fight his way back, that after everything HYDRA took from him, this is the one thing they couldn’t and nobody else should either. 

The sky has fallen to complete darkness now with the sounds of the bustling streets below rising up. You suppress a shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself as even the warmth radiating from Steve isn’t enough to keep you from the cold. Steve’s outburst had caused an explosion of colour in front of your eyes, rippling and intense as you try and block it out. The alcohol clearly isn’t helping your control as you can physically feel the sadness and guilt that radiates from Steve. You have to close your eyes, focus on anything else in the hopes that it will pass without you doing anything to make things worse. Minutes pass, you with your eyes screwed shut and focusing on your breathing, until eventually Steve speaks again, his voice rough. 

“For the record, I’m glad he talks to you. Or doesn’t talk. That he has someone he feels comfortable around. It’s good for him so… thank you.”

“Oh.” Your eyes fly open, surprised by his admission. “I think we’re sort of helping each other, really.”

“That’s good,” Steve says with a firm nod, his tone earnest which makes you smile despite your clenched teeth. Steve notices this and nudges your shoulder. “You should probably head in now, kid, it’s getting cold out.”

“I’m not going to fight you on that one,” you say as you pull yourself up, grateful to have a way out as the colours swarm in close. Pausing, you bounce on the spot as you turn back to Steve. “Are you coming?”

“I think I’ll finish up here.” He nods to his sketchbook, neither of you pointing out that it’s too dark now for Steve to do much of anything. You nod, offering him a small smile before you head back inside. 

It feels wrong to leave him there but you know he needs his space. A thought crosses your mind as you renter the party, the noise almost overwhelming after the quiet from outside, that perhaps it’s part of the territory of being a superhero to be left so broken. Everybody in this tower is suffering from some past trauma or another and it doesn’t seem to matter what they can do with their minds or their fists because grief always finds a way to slip in. You suppose it’s because what you said to Steve stands true. That at the end of the day, they are still human. Super yes, but painfully human all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i need to know that someone is hugging steve every single day, okay, because he both deserves and needs it. tony too, for that matter. i should probably point out that the events of civil war went down very differently in this fic than they did in the actual movie! 
> 
> no bucky in this one, sorry my friends, but the next one has allllll the bucky to make up for it. 
> 
> thanks for reading! ♡


	12. twelve.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which you can't say no to clint and tequila, and bucky tries choco krispies for the first time.

> "Oh you and I,  
>  safe from the world,  
>  though the world will try.  
>  Oh, I'm afraid of the things in my brain,  
>  but we can stay here  
>  and laugh away the fear."  
>  intertwined // dodie

Once inside, you almost wish you’d stayed out with Steve because you’re thrown immediately into Wanda’s path. For all that you’d told yourself earlier you would devise a proper apology, one deserving of what Wanda went through at your hand, now you stare at her, lips moving uselessly without saying a damn thing.

She smiles, instantly leaning in to throw her arms around you which seems insane considering how you left things the other day. After a tight squeeze, she pulls back. “You’re here! Sam said you were around but I couldn’t find you.”

“I was getting some air,” you explain, glancing at her carefully. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me, actually.”

Wanda waves a hand about. “None of that, please. We’re okay, you and I.”

“…How? Wanda, I feel terrible. I messed up and hurt you in the process, that’s not right.”

“Will an apology make you feel better?” Wanda raises one eyebrow and there’s a flush to her cheeks that makes you think perhaps Clint also got to her with the tequila. 

“I mean, it’s not about me, but you do deserve an apology. I really am sorry, Wanda.”

A moment passes as Wanda considers this and then she’s smiling again. “Apology accepted and we can move on. How about we do another session on Friday, yeah? I have a few ideas for testing the full extent of what you can do.”

“You really want to do another session, after what I put you through?” You shake your head, unable to fully comprehend this. “You’re not… angry? Or upset? I thought being around me is the last thing you’d want.”

“I knew what I was signing up for and yes, okay, it hurt a lot but you forget that’s the pain I already carry with me. You didn’t do anything other than highlight it and it wasn’t intentional. I’m fine, truly.” Wanda places her hands on your shoulders, looking at you with an honest expression. “Please don’t beat yourself up over this.”

“Bit late for that,” you admit, making a face. “But thank you. For forgiving me and for wanting to give it another try. That pain… I don’t know how you manage it.”

With one last squeeze to your shoulders, Wanda drops her hands and gives a small shrug. “We all have our own pain to bear. At least mine helps me remember. It would hurt worse to forget.” She clears her throat then, trying on another smile. “So what do you say, still want me as your teacher?”

“Very much so. Thank you, Wanda.”

The song playing overhead changes to something upbeat and fun, with several people giving out excited yells and a full blown smile comes of Wanda’s face as she begins swaying to the music. 

“Now that that’s out of the way, let’s go dance,” Wanda says, grabbing your hand and pulling you to where the furniture had been moved to create a makeshift dance floor, with Sam and Clint already engaged in some ridiculous dance off. For the first time in a long time, you feel normal and happy and like every terrible thing that’s happened over the last few months can’t touch you. 

*******

“Bucky!” you cheer the moment he emerges from the elevator, looking alarmed to be greeted in such an enthusiastic manner. 

His eyes immediately sweep the hall, surveying the scene and calculating any potential threats before he’s looking at you, sitting in a heap not two feet from your front door. You have enough sense to look a little sheepish but the truth is, after letting Wanda drag you out on the dance floor, Clint had come at you again with the Tequila, and it had been a struggle enough to get yourself this far. You had almost made it into your apartment only to trip and now you lack any desire to move from where you’ve propped yourself up against the wall. 

“I, uh, I may need some help, if you’d be so kind?” While you offer him what you’re sure is your best grin, he gives you another once over. The concern in his eyes has started to fade now that he’s sure you’re not hurt or injured, just dumb and drunk, and so he holds out his flesh hand to you.

Taking it gratefully, you let him pull you up. You’re wobbly on your feet, clutching Bucky’s steady hand tightly to keep yourself upright and you wouldn’t have even noticed Bucky’s metal hand pressing to your back to settle you, if it weren’t for the pinched look that comes across his face. Wordlessly, he steers you towards your door and helps you inside. 

“You are a gentleman and a hero,” you tell him seriously as he helps you over to the couch, twisting in his hands just enough to face him and pat his cheek lightly.

The corner of his mouth twitches upwards. “I take it you had fun tonight?”

You nod, falling back onto the couch with a happy sigh. “The best. I still can’t dance even with the help of tequila but what else is new.” With a little shrug, you pull your feet up and make yourself comfortable, before frowning at the way Bucky stands awkwardly, looking over to the door. You pat at the empty space beside you. “You know the drill, make yourself comfy.”

Bucky looks hesitant. “You probably want to get some sleep.”

“Wrong, absolutely wrong, amigo. I want to hang out with you and read some more Harry Potter, that’s what I want to do. Maybe while under a blanket. And possibly with my eyes closed.” You wave your hand about. “Semantics.”

There’s a tiny smile on Bucky’s face now that comes with a quiet huff of laughter as he looks at you. With his mind made up, he settles into the space beside you. It’s insane what you would do to see him smile like that more often and you’d happily let your tequila-addled mind take charge if it meant hearing that laugh again. 

“Perhaps I should read tonight,” he says, humour in his voice as you cheer in response. 

“A brilliant idea, yes sir.” A large yawn comes over you and you fight to open your eyes again after it, blinking up at Bucky with a little grin. “I am absolutely ready.”

Bucky pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and offers it to you before reaching over to pick up the novel from where Sam had flung it onto the coffee table this morning. As he finds where you left off last, you busy yourself in evenly spreading the blanket over yourself and Bucky’s lap. Coming up short of fabric, you look at Bucky with a frown.

“You don’t have enough blanket. Shuffle in, please.”

Bucky looks surprised by the demand, looking down to where there’s still space between you both. He starts to shake his head. “I’m okay, I don’t – ”

“Shuffle. In. Please.”

A rough laugh rattles from somewhere inside him. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a stubborn thing when you’re drunk?” he asks, but he slides across, inch by inch until there’s no more space between you.

With a pleased smile, you smooth the blanket out over both of you. “I’m stubborn all the time, drunk or not,” you tell him easily, tucking your feet up underneath you and leaning back to rest your head against the back of the couch. “You may proceed.”

You’re close enough to feel Bucky’s chest rise as he takes a breath before starting, his voice rough and low but ultimately comforting. He hasn’t even reached the end of the page before your eyes are falling shut, so content where you sit and with the pleasant sound of his voice, you can’t help but relax. He reads on, the words beginning to sound less rusty, and you wonder if this is the most he’s said in one sitting since the 1940s. It’s around the time the trio figure out the reason behind Hagrid getting Norbert that you feel yourself starting to drift away. You shift then, moving in closer so that your head rests against Bucky’s shoulder without even thinking about it, and you feel him go completely still beneath you. 

It’s the side of his metal arm, is the thing, and the fact that you’re outright touching him. You’re at your most vulnerable, on the cusp of sleep, and there you are dozing on the arm that made him a weapon. You know somewhere in the back of your mind that you should move, that it’s probably making him uncomfortable, but then he relaxes, just enough so that you feel his chest start to lift and release again with each steady breathe and then you’re out, just like that. 

*******

You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep for when you stir but it’s dark in your apartment and you half expect Bucky to be gone, only to feel him shift from beside you. Peering sleepily into the darkness, you can see that he’s awake, looking at you.

“Did they win?” you ask hoarsely, rubbing at your eyes. “Did they defeat Voldemort?”

“Not sure yet,” he murmurs. “Thought I’d wait until you weren’t snoring in my ear to find out.”

You try to glare but it comes out as several sleepy blinks. “I’ve told you before Barnes, I don’t snore,” you remind him, the authority of the statement waning slightly as you’re cut off by a yawn. You’re still nestled against him, though you’ve both slumped to one side, and while your back probably won’t forgive you in the morning, you’re so comfortable that you can’t even bear the thought of moving. 

“Whatever you say, doll,” he says, his breath hitching slightly behind the pet name. It’s a word that both sounds foreign and completely familiar in his voice but you’re not given time to mull it over as he starts to move around. “I should go. Let you sleep.”

You immediately cling to him to keep him from getting up. “Mmm, no. So comfortable. Please stay.” Your eyes are already falling closed again as sleep waits to claim you once more.

Bucky’s silent, you can almost hear the internal conflict inside his mind, but he doesn’t try to move again. You curl in closer, your head tucking under his chin, and give a quiet sigh. Finally, Bucky reaches over to pull up the blanket that had slipped down your shoulder to cover you both again.

“Goodnight,” he says, so quiet in your ear, and you’re asleep before you can say it back.

*******

You wake the next morning lying horizontal and stretched along the couch, your mouth open, throat dry, with a headache bad enough to knock about your vision. Groaning, you force yourself into a half-sitting positon and cradle your throbbing head in your hands. There’s a greying light inside your apartment that tells you it’s daylight, but not early enough for the shades to lift for which you’re thankful.

“Damn Clint,” you mutter, wincing. “Damn tequila.”

On the coffee table in front of you is a large glass of water and two pain killers and the sight of them makes you gasp, reaching for them instantly. You down the pills and the glass of water in one go, before leaning back to rest against the couch to wait for meds to take effect. 

“This should help, too,” a voice tells you from behind, and look up to see Bucky standing there, a cup of tea in his outstretched hand. He’s got a cup of coffee in the other hand that he takes a sip from. 

“You absolute legend,” you sigh, accepting it gratefully before squinting back up at him. “What time is it?”

“Nearly ten,” he answers, moving to sit on the couch across from you. “I got FRIDAY to change the timing of the automatic shades because you looked like you needed the sleep.”

“How on earth did you manage that? I’ve asked her a bunch of times but nooooo, eight o’clock and the sun is in my face!”

“I asked really, really nicely,” he says, flicking his eyebrows up as you scowl. 

“So FRIDAY has favourites now, I see,” you mutter before rubbing at your face with your free hand. “Honestly, if you ever see Clint Barton coming at me with a tequila bottle again, I want you to smack it out of his hand, alright?”

Bucky smirks into his coffee. “Noted.”

You take another sip of tea, already feeling more human because of it. It takes a moment for you to recollect all that occurred last night and then you’re sitting up straighter, turning to Bucky with wide eyes and a mortified expression. “Bucky, oh no,” you groan, trying to hide your face with your free hand. “I’m so sorry for last night. I can be a bit, uh, clingy… under the influence.”

Bucky blinks, before one side of his mouth quirks upwards. “A bit?” 

You roll your eyes. “Okay, okay, I turn into a subspecies of octopus, no need to shame me about it.” Your voice grows serious as you realise the position you put Bucky in, how he must have spent the night refusing to sleep in case his nightmares took over. “Thank you, though, really. For staying and… if I made you uncomfortable or pushed your boundaries, I’m really sorry. You must’ve got no sleep at all.”

An unreadable expression passes Bucky’s face and then that deep crease appears between his eyebrows. “I slept. And… No nightmares. None that I could remember.”

“Well that’s something,” you say, offering him a small smile. Bucky merely gives a distant nod, staring down into his coffee and you stay quiet, giving him the time to be with his thoughts. 

You have plenty of things you want to ask him but this is the most relaxed you’ve seen him and you don’t want to ruin that. He looked almost… at ease before you’d mentioned sleep, padding around bare foot in your apartment and making hot drinks. It’s something so normal, even with his metal fingers curled around his mug. As much as you want to ask why he stayed outside your apartment the night before, to maybe even thank him for that too, you swallow it down knowing it’s not the right time. 

Instead, you finish your cup of tea and get to your feet, groaning a little as your head pulses at the rush. A small beep emits from somewhere in the room and suddenly the shades are starting to rise, allowing a murky light to filter through the apartment as the sun tries to fight against the greying clouds. 

“So… Breakfast? I don’t think I’m up for making anything spectacular or even slightly good,” you say apologetically before throwing open the cupboard. “But I do have a ton of Choco Krispies to make up for that?”

Bucky’s still sitting on the couch, his eyebrows drawn together like you’ve started speaking in Norwegian. “Choco Krispies?” he says slowly. 

“Oh my god, Bucky, don’t tell me you’ve been living in the 21st century for this long and you haven’t had Choco Krispies? That’s basically a crime. What are you having instead, porridge, like an old man?”

Bucky goes quiet long enough for you to start feeling guilty and try to backpedal. 

“I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with porridge…”

“I like porridge,” Bucky says finally, a slow smile appearing on his face. “And I am an old man, technically.”

You stifle a laugh behind your hand, relieved, before nodding. “Well, today is my lucky day because I get to experience you trying Choco Krispies for the first time. Come on, pal, step right up!”

Bucky looks dubious about the whole thing but does as he’s asked, sitting up at the breakfast bar and watching as you dump a copious amount of Choco Krispies into a bowl before drowning it in milk. Sticking in a spoon, you push it in front of Bucky with a wide grin. He inspects it carefully, using the spoon to poke at the little puffs with a funny look as though he’s about to interrogate them until finally he takes a small spoonful. 

“So? Incredible or what?”

He makes a face as he swallows, his nose crinkling. “They’re very sweet. That’s a lot of sugar.”

“That’s what makes it so good for you,” you explain as you make up your own bowl, slipping around the counter to take a seat beside Bucky at the breakfast bar. 

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Nonsense. It’s good for your soul. Beats porridge though, right?” You urge, raising your eyebrows at him in anticipation. 

Bucky laughs, soft and light. “Don’t get too cocky but… you may have a point.”

A grin instantly lights up your face. “Aha! I knew it! Choco Krispies: one, porridge: absolutely zero!”

Shaking his head, Bucky has another, bigger spoonful of the cereal and it feels like a victory in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a cute lil bucky chapter for the cute lil peach reading this. enjoy! ♡
> 
> (also... is choco krispies the right name? we call 'em coco pops in nz so...)


	13. thirteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which you realise there's the possibility your abilities don't make you a monster, and bucky's not himself - more so than usual.

> "you're always on my mind  
>  and i never minded being on my own,  
>  then something broke in me and i wanted to go home,  
>  to be where you are,  
>  but even closer to you, you seem so very far."  
>  wish that you were here // florence + the machine

Despite the endless rooms and facilities on offer, including your comfortably furnished apartment, you think your favourite place in the Avengers Tower is Bruce’s laboratory. You find yourself there at some point each day without fail. Sometimes you only popped your head in to say hi to Bruce on your way to another brutal training with Sam and Steve, but sometimes, like today, you’d spend your whole morning or even the whole day camped out in the comfortable quiet of the lab. There’s something about the atmosphere in it and the way Bruce always seems more than happy to have you around, even if just to have you act as a soundboard while he rambles through his research.

You hadn’t even meant to end up here today, you’d been intending to hide yourself away to catch up on the study you’ve started to get behind on yet here you are, perched atop a large stool and poking through an assorted box of what’s essentially garbage. Bruce had given it to you earlier, claiming it was important and needed to be organised accordingly but you’re pretty sure he’d given you this menial task to keep you away from his actual work. You don’t mind, however, it’s nice to have something to keep your hands busy while your mind is miles away.

It’s the same thoughts that have swirled around your mind endlessly since you first came here. You think about your family, your friends, how worried they must be to have almost complete radio silence from you after so long. Still unable to turn on your phone that’s remained locked in your bedside table, you’ve settled for sending one email every fortnight to assure your parents that you’re okay and looking after yourself. You’re nowhere close to achieving a state where you feel you can be around your loved ones without harming them so it’s useless to even consider the possibility of going home. You’re working hard to keep the colours at bay, to find a way to reign them in, but you still can’t trust yourself and the thought of doing what you did to Wanda to anyone else is excruciating. The colours are still always present however, no matter your company and it hasn’t escaped your notice that the colours surrounding everyone are always darker shades. Sometimes you saw lighter tones, so brief that you didn’t think you could tug on them even if you wanted to, but it had left you wondering about the possibilities.

Then there’s Bucky. It’s embarrassing to admit to yourself that he’s on the forefront of your brain but it’s the truth. It’s been over a week since you last saw him, you hungover and grateful for his company, but since then he’s all but vanished. It makes you wonder whether your overly affectionate and drunken behaviour had scared him off but you push that thought aside quickly. There’s enough going on in Bucky’s life and it’s ridiculous to think you have any real influence over it. He’s busy, he’s recovering, and he doesn’t need to be checking in with you or spending the evenings at your apartment no matter how much you miss him.

You toy with plastic model of a kidney, spinning it on the glass table in front of you absently. It isn’t until Bruce settles himself on the stool next to you and nudges his shoulder against yours that you realise he’s even there. 

“You’re looking pretty pensive over a plastic kidney,” Bruce says lightly, reaching over to flick it so it keeps spinning. “It really doesn’t matter which pile it goes in, honest.”

“Because you’ve got me clearing out your junk drawer?” you answer, raising an eyebrow knowingly and Bruce gives a little laugh. 

He shrugs. “You wanted something to do. But really, what’s on your mind? You’re quiet today. The type of quiet you were when you first got here and weren’t comfortable enough to make those smart-ass comments I’ve now grown used to.”

You’ve been in the Tower long enough now to consider Bruce a friend. You enjoy his company, you’ve shared little titbits of your lives to one another, and you feel comfortable enough to not have to keep up your defences around him. Yet there’s something holding you back from telling him what’s truly on your mind How you’re afraid you’ll never get to see your family again without the fear of hurting them or how Bucky’s been unmistakably absent from your life since that night you’d crashed on the couch together. Maybe it’s the fact that by saying these things out loud, it makes them all the more real. Or perhaps, it’s because you know there’s nothing Bruce can really do to make things better except for offer kind words which while nice, don’t change anything. 

Instead, you decide to offer him the one thing on your mind that you hope he can help you find an answer to. 

“I’ve been thinking a lot about my… abilities and trying to figure out if, well – I can intensify emotions right? But for some reason, they always seem to be negative ones. It appears that the colour shades that surround people correlate to the type of emotions they’re feeling the most, so why are they all so dark? I see glimpses of lighter ones but only rarely. Why can’t I reach out and tug on a good emotion? Something happy, something comforting?” You turn to look at Bruce who’s watching you quietly, contemplating. “Wouldn’t that be nicer, if I could use my abilities just to remind people of the good memories and feelings they’ve had?”

There’s a soft look in Bruce’s eyes when he nods in agreement. “It really would and I don’t see why you can’t. It’s a matter of strengthening your skill and sharpening your focus. I think it’s possible, it’s just going to be more difficult than manipulating the negative emotions.” He pauses, shifting in his seat and giving you a tiny half smile. “In my opinion, I think it comes down to the fact that negative emotions have a longer lasting effect. We feel them so keenly, we hold onto them that much longer, we don’t let ourselves forget. But the good memories and the positive feelings, we disregard them so easily and they’re harder to hold onto. We recall moments of pain and sorrow far easier than we ever do the times we felt happy and safe. It’s human flaw at its finest but while it may be difficult to grasp those positive emotions, I don’t think it’s impossible. Have you tried it at all?”

You make a noise of disbelief. “Absolutely not,” you say, shaking your head furiously before spinning the kidney again and watching it intently as it moves in front of you. “I haven’t done anything since that day with Wanda. Our last session together, she just made me focus on the colours and try to recognise what emotions they may be without touching them.” It had been an interesting lesson, the first one since you’d accidentally caused her so much grief. It did involve staring at Wanda intently for the better parts of an hour without speaking as you sifted through the colours to familiarise yourself with the emotions but you did feel as though it strengthened your focus. 

“Hasn’t Tony had the fear talk with you? You know, how you only give something more power over you the more you fear it?”

Tearing your eyes from the plastic kidney, you narrow your eyes at Bruce. “I can’t believe you and Tony are co-parenting me. Do you, like, discuss what life lesson you’re each going to teach me every week or just go with the flow?”

Bruce snorts quietly. “Tony’s not so much a planner, more of talk-shit-and-see-where-it-takes-him kind of guy. But you know he has a point, right?”

You groan, leaning forward rest your face on your crossed arms in front of you. “Just because it’s right doesn’t make it easy.”

“No, but such is life,” Bruce says airily. “How about we try it?”

“Come again?” you ask, raising your head just enough to peer at Bruce over your arms.

Bruce nods emphatically. “Come on, why don’t you give it a go on me right now? Find the lightest shade you can and let’s see what happens.”

You unfurl yourself to sit up straight, trying to convey how insane you think Bruce is being through a concerned look alone. “I can’t be the only one to see how much of a bad idea that is, right? I don’t know what I’m doing. What if I… What if I do something that um… brings out the Other Guy?”

Already up on his feet, Bruce laughs. “You won’t, I’m sure of it. If it’s one thing I excel at, it’s control. I have faith that you can do it but in the off chance you tug on something else, I promise it’s nothing that I’m not already feeling to the extreme anyway. Go on, be brave.” He grins then, almost tauntingly, before gesturing for you to stand.

“You’re actually insane,” you murmur, mystified, as you get to your feet. “I’m actually worried for you right now. This isn’t normal behaviour, to invite potential mental anguish, you know that right?”

“Stop stalling and have at it,” Bruce says, waving at himself. 

“God, fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” you mutter before shaking your head and refocusing your mind as you try to block out the background noise to only on Bruce standing in front of you. He gives you a small little smile, nudging his glasses back up his nose before folding his hands behind his back, waiting. 

The colours always hit you harder when you allow yourself to focus on them. They’re there constantly, a quiet humming in the background that increases whenever you let your concentration slip, but you spend so much of your day trying to tune them out that when you let go of that control, the colours became overwhelming. It takes you a moment, blinking rapidly, as you narrow your eyes around Bruce’s frame and settle your breathing so you can focus on each shade. There’s plenty of dark colours sitting around him, reds and greys and blues that ripple and shimmer and swirl together, making it hard to differentiate the underlying emotions. There are brighter reds too, mixed in and alluring in their lighter tones, but you can almost feel the rage bubbling up beneath them which has you steering clear. 

A sudden pang of fear comes across you. What if you can’t find a single light colour? Does that mean it’s impossible for you to tug any positive emotions, or does it mean that Bruce has none for you to tug on? The second thought makes you wince. Bruce deserves so much more than that, it’s unfair. You shake your head and recollect yourself, pushing these thoughts aside. The longer you look, the more prominent the colours become. You can almost shift through them, pushing one aside to view the next – anger, loneliness, grief, and an overwhelming self-hatred that seems to bleed into every other emotion. It’s haunting and discouraging until there’s a glimmer of something lighter that you hadn’t seen before – it’s mix of orange and yellow, not exactly bright but definitely more positive than the rest of the emotions there. It’s a softer colour, like the mix of colours in the sky during a sunset, and there’s a comforting feel about it that has you mentally grabbing it before you even realise what you’ve done. Your eyes fly open as you realise you’ve tugged it, and hard. 

Inhaling a breath, you wait for the fall out. You wait, maybe for Bruce to yell or turn green or god forbid, be sad, but then he’s doing the craziest thing. 

He’s smiling. 

It’s the biggest one you’ve seen on him and he wears it well, ear to ear, making him look younger than his years. Then he’s laughing but you can’t quite join in, staring at him as though you’re still waiting for something more to happen. 

Instead, he moves to you and places his hands on your shoulders, jostling you gently. “You did it!” he praises, still grinning. “That was amazing.”

“I… It was good?”

“It was very good. Wonderful, actually. Like reliving it all over again,” Bruce confirms. “Well done, I know that must’ve been scary for you.”

“I thought I was going to… I don’t know, anger you, upset you… but I could see it there. I could feel it almost. I think that’s the most control I’ve had yet.” You look up at him, giving him a shy smile. “It felt really good. To be in control and to not be hurting anyone.”

“I’m proud of you.” Bruce squeezes your shoulders gently. “Really proud.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, pressing down lightly as you try not to let it show just how much those words mean to you. It’s like coming up for air after being under the water for almost too long. It’s something close to hope. 

“Can I… What was it, Bruce? Was it a memory? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking,” you say quickly, realising whatever caused that reaction in Bruce might be incredibly personal.  


Bruce shakes his head easily. “It’s fine. It’s important for you to know exactly what reactions you’re causing in people. It was a feeling that was attached to a memory, you seemed to pull the feeling out and amplify it, reminding me of that moment I first felt it. It was… it felt warm and took me back to when the Avengers formed. I’d be living off the grid on my own for the longest time and suddenly I was being thrown into this group of, well, misfits basically and I was sort of terrified it would all go wrong. But then I met Tony, who offered me snacks and wasn’t afraid of me, and there was a night where we all ended up talking and I guess… it was the first time I felt like I belonged somewhere. That me and the Other Guy could do something good.” He smiles again. “It was nice, to remember that.”

There’s no fighting the large smile that comes across your face and then you’re leaning forward, wrapping your arms around Bruce in a tight hug. He seems shocked by the sudden gesture but hugs you before you’re pulling back, still smiling. 

“Thank you, Bruce. This is… this is huge. I feel…” You trail off, unsure of how to say exactly how to sum up the relief overflowing within you at the knowledge there might be some good in your abilities after all, something that doesn’t entirely leave you as a monster. “Happy,” you decide on, nodding decisively. “I feel happy.”

*******

When you leave Bruce’s lab, you’re feeling far too giddy to go back to your apartment and study so you decide to put this excess energy to good use and head for the gym. You’ve got another hour or so before you’re due to meet with Sam and Steve to grab dinner, but you figure using that time to get a little boxing in wouldn’t hurt. Your whole body is shaky but for once with something other than fear or worry. It’s excitement at the potential this turn in your abilities holds. You can do something other than inflict pain and misery now, you can make people happy. You can remind people of the best parts of their lives that they carry around with them but don’t always remember. That truly feels like a power worth having, one that you can’t really be afraid of. 

As you step inside the gym, the heavy thud of fists hitting a punching bag sound out and you look over to find Bucky, alone, throwing his arms out again and again. His hair is down, plastered to his face with sweat from overexertion, but he doesn’t show any sign of slowing down. If anything, he only hits harder as he breathes heavily. It doesn’t look like an intense workout routine nor does it look like something therapeutic. It looks like self-inflicted punishment.

Your stomach lurches at the sight and you want nothing more than to rush over and stop him but you can only imagine how badly that will go down. Instead, you swallow roughly, feeling all earlier traces of excitement drain from you as you make your way towards him. If his super solider hearing has picked up on your presence, he doesn’t let it show as he keeps slamming his fists into the robust bag engineered to take the power of his punches. Despite this, there’s definite movement to the bag; evidence for just how much power lay in Bucky’s fists, flesh or otherwise. 

Keeping to the edge of the gym, you make your way to where the punching bags line the walls and move so you’re standing opposite Bucky, his face half hidden by his hair and the punching bag that sways after each blow. His eyebrows are drawn tight, his mouth puckered in concentration, and even with the healthy flush of exercise colouring his face, he didn’t look well. The gauntness of his face, the stubble left to grow into beard territory, and those dark circles around his eyes that he always wore looked far worse than you’ve ever seen them. 

The punches keep coming and you don’t interrupt, watching the sheer force of Bucky’s power in action until his shoulders are heaving. You don’t know much about the stamina of super soldiers, but enough to be aware he has to have been doing this close to hours for his body to be reacting in this way. Eventually, the punches begin to slow, the fury behind each hit waning until he’s reaching out with both hands to steady the bag. He presses his forehead to the sturdy material in an attempt to get his breathing under control. Once his breathing falls silent, he looks around the punching bag to meet your eye. 

The look on his face makes you wish you’d slunk away unnoticed. The exhaustion carried in his expression is ten times worse when faced directly and there’s a flicker in his eyes as he catches sight of you. Something close to guilt, made all the more obvious by the surge of colour that surrounds him. He looks almost nervous as he remains half hidden behind the punching bag, with no attempt made to push the hair back from his face as he looks at you.

It shouldn’t affect you this much, this reaction of his, because you know he’s recovering and Bruce has told you himself that it’s one step forward, two steps back. There’s other things going on in his life that you don’t know about, that you don’t have any right to know about, that can have him feeling this way but you can’t deny it hurts to see his eyes widen the way they do at the very sight of you. You swallow thickly, trying to offer up a smile despite the frantic thoughts in your head as you try and figure out what exactly you may have done to upset him.

“Hey there, stranger,” you greet, your voice sounding weak to your own ears. “Haven’t seen you in a little while. Everything okay with you?”

Bucky seems to consider this for a moment before he nods, the corners of his lips twitching upwards in the tiniest smile. There’s too much effort behind it and it doesn’t reach his eyes as he drops his gaze from you. The silence is the least of your worries because you’d spent evenings with him where he hasn’t said a single word except for hello, that’s just how he is sometimes with words being too much. But it’s his body language, something you realise you’ve learnt to become attuned to, that’s all wrong. 

“Okay.” You nod, trying for another smile as you get ready to leave. “Well, I just wanted to check in. If you, ah, if you need anything, you know where I am, okay?”

There’s a quiet moment where Bucky’s eyes finally meet yours again and he seems to consider this offer before nodding again. You don’t wait around any longer, already feeling guilty for approaching him at all while he seems so desperate to be alone, and so you leave the gym with any thought of boxing completely gone. By this point, any energy or enthusiasm you came in with has gone and you’re left with a mounting worry around what’s going on with Bucky.

You try and push it aside to enjoy your dinner plans, with Sam taking you and Steve out to a new Japanese restaurant that had opened, and while the food was great and the company even better, you find your mind drifting back to Bucky constantly. Steve caught your eye a few times but you couldn’t find a way to voice your thoughts, instead plastering on an even bigger smile to cover up your quiet moments. 

It’s not until that evening when you’re getting ready for bed that you hear three gentle knocks on your front door. They almost inaudible, like the person on the other side is hoping to go unnoticed, but there’s a part of you that’s been waiting without you realising, leaving you on high alert for any indication of a visitor. When you open the door, clad only in an oversized shirt and sleep shorts with your hair a mess, you find Bucky on the other side looking somewhat guilty. He’s dressed down like he normally is when he comes to visit, in sweats and a hoodie, but there’s something odd about how he looks that leaves you inspecting him closer. After a moment, you realise his hair is still down like it had been earlier, damp and smelling lightly of shampoo. Normally whenever he came over, he had his hair tied back and off his face so you could see him. He lets his hair hang over his eyes, peering at you carefully from behind it. 

“Hey Buck, you okay?”

He looks anything but with the way his eyes shift about, unable to settle on you for long as his lips twitch around silent words. Finally, he meets your eye with a decisive frown. “I shouldn’t be here,” he whispers, voice broken. There’s almost a pleading in those words, like he wants you to send him away but you know there’s no chance of that happening. 

Instead, you offer him a soft smile and step to one side. “But you are, so you may as well come in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there readers, it's me, your gal, and i'm terribly sorry for how long it has been - almost a month! that's ridiculous! i don't even know if any of you are even still here but if you are, please blame the end of semester haze for lack of updates as well as the fact i fell into a buzzfeed unsolved hole as a way to combat my assignment stress. 
> 
> but anyway. if you are still here, thank you very much for sticking around! i feel like things are finally kicking into motion and i'm excited. hope you're well. ♡


	14. fourteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you and bucky do some late night talking.

> "I’ve been told, I’ve been told to get you off my mind  
>  but I hope I never lose the bruises that you left behind.  
>  Oh my lord, oh my lord, I need you by my side.  
>  There must be something in the water  
>  'cause every day it's getting colder,  
>  and if only I could hold you,  
>  you'd keep my head from going under."  
>  bruises // lewis capaldi 

It’s getting late with midnight fast approaching, though the sounds of the never-ending traffic and movement from the city below remains present, made louder still by the silence occurring in your apartment. Bucky had moved through the doorway stiffly to sit at the edge of the couch with his back ramrod straight and his expression unreadable. The crease between his eyebrows was present and deep and his eyes kept flicking around the room like he was waiting for something to happen, though you couldn’t be sure what exactly. 

After a few minutes of silence, you give a quiet sigh and drop into the seat on the couch beside him. He looks alarmed at your close proximity but you won’t let him scare you off that easily. There’s still an arm’s length between you and if you thought he was actually uncomfortable, you would’ve moved away but there’s something in his stare that tells you his reaction is more to do with what’s going on in his head than the space between you both. 

You wish he hadn’t left his hair down. It’s too easy for him to hide behind it, though it does little to erase the dark circles marring the delicate skin under his eyes or the pallor of his face. Though you’re sure there’s very little he could do to take away the ever-present handsomeness of his strong jawline and intense eyes, your stomach clenches at how unhealthy he looks. There’s a gauntness to him that touches upon more than his physical appearance and not for the first time, you wished for a way to help him, to take away some of the pain that’s eating away at him on the inside. 

A tremor runs through your hands where they lay in your lap and you flex your fingers, thinking of the rush of endorphins that had run through you when you had tugged on that warm memory of Bruce’s, and the brightness of his smile as the feelings of that memory returned to him. Maybe… If Bucky would let you… Perhaps there is a way to bring some joy back into Bucky’s solemn features, to ease him of the darkness that hangs over him constantly. It takes you a moment to realise you’re staring at Bucky, hard, as you sift through the colours surrounding him, something that you had been utterly afraid to do when you’d first met him. The colours are mostly dark and muted, guilt, self-hatred, and a loneliness that leaves you bitterly cold. It’s only when Bucky tilts his head in response to your unwavering stare that you shake yourself out of it, instantly chastising yourself for even considering playing with Bucky’s emotions without even asking him first. He’s had enough people messing with his mind, it’s utterly cruel for you to do the same. 

Instead, you offer Bucky a small smile. “I’ve missed you,” you say, keeping your voice light but honest. “I figured the whole being-part-octopus-while-drunk thing might have really put you off coming around.”

It’s a weak attempt at a joke but hardly bad enough to deserve the pained look that appears on Bucky’s face. It’s different from before, unlike when he awoke from his nightmare. It sits in his eyes and on his face like a fresh wound, not one that he’d grown used to the ache of. You feel a rush of concern run through you and drop the nonchalant act. 

Sitting up straighter, you meet Bucky’s eye. “Bucky, hey. What’s going on?” you ask, frowning when he tears his gaze away and his fingers fumble together where they’re propped rigidly on his lap. “Is it… is it something I’ve done or has something happened or… Bucky, please, I’m worried about you.”

The words hang in the air between you, solid and tangible, and then Bucky is shaking his head. 

“You shouldn’t,” he grounds out, closing his eyes. “How can you.” He doesn’t offer it as a question, merely a defeated statement that breaks your heart. 

A peculiar feeling rouses in your chest, hot and fuming and stubborn as it ricochets inside your ribcage. “Bucky, I know I haven’t been here long and that we don’t know each other all that well but regardless of all that, you’re my friend. The very first friend I made here, to be exact, so guess what, I care about you! So of course I’m going to worry about you when you disappear and I know I probably don’t have any right to but… I do.”

“You shouldn’t,” Bucky repeats, his voice broken yet insistent. “I am not a friend anyone should have. I’m…” His voice dipped, becoming gravel, “…a monster.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Bucky finally meets your eyes with a steady gaze. “It’s the truth. You can’t imagine the things I did. The people I tortured, the people I killed, the pain I inflicted in any way possible. I did this for years, it was all I did. It’s all that I was good for. I was an executioner, set out to kill those HYDRA needed gone, and then they would put me into storage until I was needed again.” He stopped, watching as his hands both flesh and metal curled into tight fists in front of him. “I will never forget the lives I ruined. The faces of the people I extinguished, their last words as they pleaded for their lives or begged for the people they loved. I will forever be haunted by them and it’s the least I deserve.” 

You took in a breath, heart aching. A swirling blackness is beginning to engulf Bucky, making it hard to see him no matter how hard you tried. “But that wasn’t you. That was HYDRA, using you…”

“It was still my hands delivering the punishment… the pain…” He looked up at you then, murky behind the darkness but the self-loathing in his eyes would’ve been palpable even if you had your eyes closed. “Did you know it was me that killed Tony Stark’s parents?”

The words fall between you to be followed by an intense silence. You had not known that. It struck you cold and made the pieces fall together as to the strain in the relationship between Tony and Cap. Tony is logical but not always rational but you couldn’t expect him to be either when it came to his parents, his mother in particular. It had to be near agonising for Tony to allow Bucky into the tower and into his life when he wore the face of the man that killed the Starks, and yet he did it. Bucky kept himself in the shadows, far from Tony’s presence, and Tony could hardly even meet the eye of Steve despite their previous friendship. It seems a hopeless, broken situation made worse by the fact that Bucky is as much a victim as Tony’s parents, only he is left to live with the guilt of the torture he both received and inflicted.

You shake your head slightly, staring at Bucky carefully. “Was it you, though? Actually you?”

Bucky looked confused for a moment, unsure how to answer this. “It was… It was me. I crushed his mother’s windpipe with my hand. I remember that.”

It’s hard not to flinch at such a visceral statement but you keep your gaze steady. “You mean to say you did that of your own free will?”

“What?” Bucky’s eyes went wide before he shook his head furiously. “Of course not. No.”

“Then it was HYDRA, not you. You were just… doing what they programmed you to do. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t good, but it wasn’t you acting on your own.”

Bucky looked away, the muscle in his jaw working as he ground out, “Doesn’t change the fact that they’re dead. Doesn’t stop Tony seeing his parent’s murderer every time he looks at me.”

“No,” you say softly, inching ever so slightly closer to Bucky. There’s a visible tremor in his shoulders that hints of the turmoil moving about inside him. “There’s no way of changing what has been done. But that doesn’t mean you should be punished for all that was out of your control. You were a victim, too, Bucky.” There’s a quiet hitch in your voice and you realise that your face is wet. “You think you deserve this pain but you don’t. You don’t deserve any of it.”

Bucky turns back to you, his eyes wide as he stares at you with those imploring grey eyes. Disbelief is written all over his face but what’s worse is the anger that lies behind that, that grows stronger as he begins to shake his head furiously. “You would think differently if you truly knew. If you saw the footage, if you read my file. You don’t understand.” 

“I understand that everything you did, you didn’t want to do. I understand that you didn’t have a choice.” You raise your chin up, looking at him defiantly. That red, hot burn in your chest was back, ready to fight as hard as you must to make Bucky see himself the way you do. A thought suddenly catches in your mind and your gaze softens. “Is this…” You pause. It sounds silly to say it out loud but you have to ask. “Is this why you’ve been distancing yourself? Because you thought I would think differently of you if I knew? That I would believe you to be a monster?”

“I wish that was enough to keep me from you,” Bucky murmurs, his grey eyes so serious that a tremble ran down your spine. He looks nervous suddenly, as though he’s given too much of himself away and he ducks his head to allow the loose strands of his hair to hide him away from you. “I should know better. I shouldn’t…” He stops, the words dying in his throat. 

You wait though it kills you, though your heart has started a funny jagged rhythm in your chest, but Bucky merely stays silent, staring forward at nothing until you can’t keep quiet any longer. 

“Then why?”

A large, shaking sigh rolls through Bucky’s body. You can see the tension sitting on his shoulders, weighing him down until even breathing must become difficult. When he looks at you again, his eyes are softer though his expression is miserable. His lips part, twitching as he tries to find the words, and in a strange twist, you realise he looks as though he’s caught between laughing or crying. 

“Because,” he begins, his words steady despite the shake of his body. “For the first time in a long time, I felt happy.”

There’s that warm feeling in your chest again, only it’s different this time. It’s a slow, mellow glow that leaves you feeling satiated and calm. It’s almost as confusing to you as Bucky’s confession.

“I don’t understand,” you tell him plainly. “Why would you run from a feeling like that, after everything you’ve had to suffer?”

Bucky is on his feet before you can even register the fluidity of the movement, his expression agitated as he begins to pace. “Can’t you understand what I’m saying to you?” Bucky cried out, pausing then to look at you desperately. “I don’t deserve it, I don’t deserve any of this. An unmarked grave somewhere far removed is what I should’ve got and would have too, if I didn’t wear the face of Steve’s old best friend. And you…” He swallowed roughly, looking at you with the expression of a man who wanted so deeply, only he just didn’t understand what exactly. “You deserve to be around people like Steve, and Sam, and Bruce. Good people, who will help you adjust to this life. Not someone like me.”

You stay quiet, the only sound that can be heard outside of the muted city noise is Bucky’s breathing as he continues to stare at you, silently begging you to cast him out, to yell, to do anything that isn’t looking at him with damp eyes. 

“Don’t I get a say in this?” You ask finally, rising to your feet and facing him. “Don’t I deserve to be happy?”

“Yes,” Bucky says fiercely. “Which is why I need to stay away.”

“But what if some of that happiness comes from you? Don’t get me wrong, Steve, Sam, Bruce, they’re all great. Brilliant, wonderful, and they’ve done so much for me. But so have you, Bucky. You don’t see it because you refuse to believe that you can be anything but a catalyst for agony, but it’s because of you that I have even allowed myself to be open to the possibility of having a normal life again. That I have tried to become less afraid of who I am, that I haven’t felt so alone.”

Bucky’s face crumples as his hands fall to his sides. All the fire has disappeared within him and he can only look at you, his eyes the colour of a rough sea. “But that’s just it. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be like this. You would have a normal life. You wouldn’t hate yourself the way you do.” A deep breath shudders through his body. “Because I made you this way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you thought you were going to have to wait another month for an update, you were nearly right!!! however, coming back to this story is such a nice little break from real life and nanowrimo which is currently kicking my ass. if any of you out there are doing nanowrimo, i'm proud of you and keep going!!! ♡


	15. fifteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more truth is revealed in a late night heart to heart.

> "We talk about it all night long,  
>  we define our moral ground  
>  but when I crawl into your arms,  
>  everything comes tumbling down.  
>  Come sail your ships around me  
>  and burn your bridges down,  
>  we make a little history, baby,  
>  every time you come around."  
>  the ship song // nick cave & the bad seeds

The statement comes out of nowhere, unexpected enough to make you take a step back in surprise.

“What are you talking about?” You shake your head. “How could you have possibly done this to me? Some HYDRA sympathisers decided to revisit the madness of human experimentation after they found an old HYDRA base outside of the city. They abducted test subjects, like me, to see what they could create. I got caught up in this because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and just happened to get captured. Just because it was done in the name of HYDRA doesn’t mean it had anything to do with you, Bucky.”

“But it did,” Bucky sighs. “Years ago, I helped create those bases and killed anyone who found out about them. Then, when I was back with Steve and the news broke that they were in use again, when we realised people were going missing and turning up dead with all sorts of chemicals in their bloodstream, the Avengers needed me to lead them to the base.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair, closing his eyes tightly as he breathed in. He opened his eyes again with a steely expression. “And I couldn’t do. My brain was fried and I couldn’t remember without setting myself off again. It took me days to find my way back to the locations of the bases until finally I could remember the co-ordinates and even though I fought Steve to be the one to undertake the extraction because I was the only one who knew the ins and outs, the minute I stepped inside, I completely broke. Someone started saying the words… the ones that trigger my brain and make me into the Fist of HYDRA and…” Both his hands clench into tight fists and his jaw ticks as he fights to get the words out. “I almost didn’t get you out of there at all.”

The silence and the horror in Bucky’s eyes as he relives that night say more than his words do.

“You…” This is the last thing you had expected Bucky to say. The disclosure of this information has you so blind sighted, you step backwards until you feel the edge of the couch against your calves then sink down onto it. You barely remember anything of that night, other than the haze of smoke and a blaring siren and the fogginess of your head under the influence of sedatives. But now, as you force yourself to think back to that night, you remember a strong arm around your waist, lifting you off the table as you drifted in and out of consciousness. You’d never thought to ask Tony about that night, choosing instead to try and repress any memory from your time there, and now you didn’t know how to feel.

“That was you? Who found me?” You ask finally, your voice barely above a whisper as Bucky gives a pained look. 

“No. I nearly killed you.”

“What… what do you mean?”

He shakes his head fiercely. “I don’t remember everything from that night but I do remember having one hand around your throat. All they would’ve had to do was give the command and I would’ve crushed it and you.” His voice cracks and he turns his body away, taking in a deep breath. “If Steve hadn’t been there, had stopped them…”

It’s a terrifying thought to think how close you had come to death that night but what is worse is seeing Bucky now, looking so disgusted by himself.

Your own voice surprises you when you ask, “What happened next?”

It’s a question so unexpected that it momentarily breaks Bucky’s self-loathing. His eyebrows dip and he draws back, blinking. “What do you mean?”

“You had your hand around my throat and then Steve arrived,” you start, ignoring the shake in your voice. “And then what happened?”

“Steve took out the agent and brought me back to myself. A fire had broken out, as a way to destroy the base now that it had been found I assume, and more HYDRA agents showed up. Steve and I fought off as many as we could but the smoke got so bad so I grabbed you and Steve tried to find any more survivors before the base was completely devoured by the flames,” Bucky explains in a detached voice. 

You can feel tears track down your face, overwhelmed by the thought of that night and the truth you now know, but you manage a watery smile. “Bucky, you saved my life.” When he looks as though he’s about to argue, you shake your head. “No, listen, you did. You managed to come back to yourself, even after they tried to mess with your head, and you got me out of there. Bucky, thank you.” 

Bucky shifts, unable to meet your eyes. “I was too slow, I took too long, and too many people died because of it. You nearly died.”

“But I didn’t,” you remind him, brushing the tears from your cheeks. You want to get back onto your feet, to feel that same fire from before so that you could prove to Bucky he was the hero in this situation, but you felt too shaky to even attempt it. If only he was close enough to reach out to, he’s too far away. “Bucky, I saw inside your mind for mere minutes and it was excruciating. I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like, to have to force yourself back into that place and that mind set. It must have nearly killed you but you did it. You saved a lot of people.”

“Not enough,” he whispers, before confusion moves across his face and his eyebrows dip together. “You saw inside my mind?”

Shit. This is the last thing you want to divulge to Bucky but you suppose it’s a night for honesty and with the way this conversation has gone, it’s only fair to share your own confessions. You shift further back on the couch, needing the support of the plush cushions to keep you upright with the sudden exhaustion that barrelled through you, and you pat the cushion beside you with the flat of your hand. 

“Come here,” you murmur, noticing the conflict in Bucky’s eyes so you give him an imploring look. “Please?”

A few silent moments pass before Bucky gives in. He moves to the couch and puts himself right at the opposite end. You sigh, but allow him that much as he waits expectantly. 

“You remember that night you had a nightmare and I tried to wake you?” 

Bucky winces. “How could I forget,” he mutters.

“I should have told you this back then but I didn’t really understand it and I still don’t, but if it would’ve eased your guilt then I…” You stop, rubbing a hand down your face and taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “The truth is, when you grabbed my arm, it wasn’t your force that hurt me. Something about my abilities allowed me to see into your mind, to feel what you were feeling in that night terror. I could see parts of a lab, I could hear broken German dialogue I didn’t understand, and the pain in my shoulder was extraordinary… Bucky, that’s what frightened me. Not you, but the fact that my ability allowed me see inside you in that way. I should’ve told you, it would have been kinder, but I was so afraid of what that made me that I just… couldn’t.” You sigh, frustrated with yourself. “It’s a weak excuse, I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

A choked laugh falls from you. You turn to Bucky, astonished. “Please tell me you are not apologising for something that was completely outside of your control?”  


Bucky shrugs. “I wouldn’t wish what goes on inside my head on anyone.” 

“Then in that case, I’m very sorry you have experience it at all,” you point out.

In that moment, Bucky looks up at you with something close to a half smile lifting his mouth and you find yourself mirroring it, the emotion in the room subsiding somewhat and making it easier to breathe. You feel as though you’ve been awake for over a week, the buzzing in your head from the sheer amount of emotions you’ve gone through in the last hour almost too much, but it’s worth it to have Bucky here and talking to you. It’s progress. 

A line deepens in your forehead. “I shouldn’t ask this,” you prelude, feeling mad that you’re even going to mention it. “But… All this time, have you been trying to atone to ease the unnecessary guilt you have for me being this way? Those nights you stayed with me, and when you stayed outside my room…”

Bucky is silent long enough for you to think you won’t be getting an answer and then he clears his throat, his eyes falling from your face as though he can’t bear to see your reaction to what he’s about to say. 

“In the beginning, yes.” 

“Oh.” It shouldn’t hurt but it does. You pull yourself away from that and focus on what’s important, catching Bucky’s eye again with a determined look. “I don’t want to be one more thing that you blame yourself for, Bucky. I won’t let you do that, or feel like you have to be responsible for me. As far as I’m concerned, you saved my life. You did good, Bucky.”

He doesn’t look as though he believes you but he nods anyway. After a moment, one side of his mouth twitches upwards as he gives you a shy look. “It was only the first time or so.”

“Hmm?”

“I sought you out because I wanted to check on you. Those first few times, I stayed around to make sure you were okay and because I wanted there to be some way I could make it up to you for putting you in this position.” His mouth quirks upwards. “After that, I kept coming around because I found I enjoyed the company.”

You find yourself unable to hold back a smile. “Well, it has been said I have a charming personality.” The end of your sentence is cut off by a yawn that sneaks up on you and you press your hand to your mouth, feeling your eyes burn with sleep. It’s later than you first thought and the emotional side of this whole conversation has you feeling drained, but the last thing you want is for this to be over. 

The line between Bucky’s eyebrows appears as he begins to get to his feet. “It’s late. I should let you get some sleep.” 

“Wait,” you reach out to grab his arm before you realise what you’re doing, your fingers curling around the wrist of his flesh arm. He doesn’t flinch under your touch, merely looking down at your hand with muted surprise. “When’s the last time you slept? Like probably slept, with no nightmares?”

Bucky considers this for a moment. “The last time I was here, when we slept on the couch.”

“And before then?”

“I… I don’t remember,” he admits. He can see where this is going and looks panicked. “I really should go.”

“How about you don’t?” you counter. “It’s up to you, of course, but the offer is there. You look exhausted, Bucky, and you’re not sleeping. Maybe just having someone nearby is enough to help you get through the night.” Your voice grows quiet. “I just… I want to help. If you’ll let me.”

Bucky blinks. He hasn’t pulled his arm away from you, relaxed under your grip, though he still wears a pinched expression. “What if I… What if I have another…”

You move to stand beside him, pressing the tips of your fingers lightly to his pulse point. It quickens underneath your touch, but you couldn’t be sure if it was due to the thought of his nightmares or to your sudden proximity. 

He clears his throat. “I don’t want to hurt you again. Physically or otherwise. I couldn’t… I can’t…” 

“What if you don’t? What if you just have a really good sleep and everything’s okay?”

“That’s not the sort of thing that happens to me,” Bucky points out dryly. 

You can’t help but laugh. “It’s your call, Bucky, truly. I don’t want to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable but it’s been a long day and I feel it’s possibly nicer not to be alone after pouring out so many emotions. The bed is massive and I promise I won’t blanket hog.”

“You do snore, though,” Bucky points out, his voice quiet but there’s a shine to his eyes when you glare up at him. 

“You know what, consider the offer revoked, you big bully,” you scoff, dropping his arm so you could cross yours and pretend to turn away in a huff. That soft, rusty laughter of Bucky sounds out and you can’t help but turn back to him with a smile. It’s a sweet sound. 

His smile fades and he looks as though he’s thinking, hard, with a conflicted expression appearing on his face. When he looks to you, it’s with longing as though he knows what he wants but he isn’t sure if he can truly have it. He’s a man who’s spent most of his life not having choices and while it feels only right to give him the chance to make his own decisions, he’s still not used to being allowed to ask for what he wants or to take what he’s given. So you decide for him, feeling okay in the knowledge that if he truly didn’t want to stay, he would have disappeared like he has before.

You curl your fingers around his wrist once more. “C’mon,” is all you say, moving forward and he comes with you easily, without question or hesitation, revealing what his choice was all along. 

Bucky takes off only his hoodie, remaining in sweats and a singlet, and he waits until you’ve slipped between the sheets and made yourself comfortable before he lets himself into the bed from the other side. He keeps himself as close to his side of the bed as possible yet despite the slight traces of apprehension in his features, he looks for the most part comfortable with the situation. You roll onto your side to face him, offering him a sleepy smile. 

“Sleep well, Bucky,” you murmur, fighting off another yawn. Your eyes don’t quite stay open when Bucky whispers his reply, already falling into the grasp of sleep. You feel more comfortable than you have in weeks, knowing Bucky’s only an arm’s reach away, and you’re asleep before Bucky calls for lights out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i realise the ending for the last chapter appeared more of a cliff hanger than i had intended it to be, oops! it was just the best place to break the chapters up but hopefully it wasn't too disappointing regardless.
> 
> happy turkey day to those of you who celebrate being with family and eating good food. we don't have it here in new zealand but i am very much enjoying all the online black friday deals so that's something. hope you're all well ♡


	16. sixteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky's mind always turns on him at night, but this time you're there to help.

> "I'm sorry you saw me breaking  
>  but stay with me, don't stray.  
>  God, I wish you would hold me closely,  
>  don't think I don't feel the same.  
>  I'm better on my own  
>  but I don't wanna be alone."  
>  fragile // gnash ft. wrenn

The room is still dark and almost completely silent when you blink awake, aside for the rhythmic thump from the bathroom that had roused you from sleep. You stir in your bed, wrapped up in sheets that feel too warm, and struggle into a sitting position. With blurry eyes, you turn and reach out to find the bed empty with the dull thumping noise becoming more agitated.

“Bucky?” you murmur, rubbing at your face. You blink quickly, trying to make sense of the red glowing numbers on the alarm clock beside your bed and you realise you’ve only been asleep less than three hours. The thumping pauses for only a moment and then starts up again, faster this time. Frowning, you push away the covers and find your feet, padding towards the noise that spills out of the unlit bathroom door. “Buck?”

The bathroom is dark but you can make out the shape of Bucky sitting huddled on the tiled floor, back pressed against the wall as the knuckles of his flesh hand make contact with the floor again and again. It’s too dark to make out his face but you’re immediately wide awake, hand lifting to the light switch.

“Bucky, I’m going to turn on the light now, okay?” 

There’s no answer, just that consistent smack of flesh on tiles, and so you flip the switch to bring the room into colour. You stifle a gasp at what comes to light, Bucky with his face vacant of any expression and the vibrant red that oozes from his knuckles as he pounds them against the floor. For a moment, you can only stare at the blood settling against the stark white of the tile before you sink to your knees in front of Bucky, making sure not to touch him as you can’t be sure if he’s here or in his mind with the way his eyes have glazed over.

“Bucky, can you hear me?” you ask gently, shuffling a little closer and trying to catch his gaze. 

His eyes shift up to your face but he still looks distant, his hand still moving, and all you want to do is take hold of it to keep him from harming himself any further. 

“Bucky, you’re safe, you’re here with me in my bathroom and everything’s okay,” you murmur. 

A shuddery breath spills from Bucky and he inhales another, deeper and more steady. You watch as he continues this, his chest rising and falling in a measured rhythm as he blinks and comes back to himself. His fist doesn’t stop moving. 

“Was it a nightmare?” you ask, keeping your voice soft.

He shakes his head. “Just memories. Couldn’t stop thinking about them, about everything.” The force behind his fist increases, the smack echoed by the sick wetness of the blood spilling from his hand. 

“Hey, hey,” you whisper, inching as close as you can without encroaching on his space. You lift your hands but don’t move them towards him, your fingers twitching as you fight off the urge to pull his fist into your lap. “Bucky, please. You’re hurting yourself, you’re going to break your hand.”

“It has to hurt,” he grunts, his teeth clenched. He looks up and sees your face, searching for something in your expression. “I’m still me because of it.”

Something in your chest breaks at the struggle in his voice. Any fear you had felt coming into the bathroom has vanished now, leaving behind only a deep grief at seeing Bucky this way. Watching his fist move against the tile, his body tense and his face dark as he struggles to keep himself in the right mind. You want to wrap him up and hide him from himself, let him escape the confines of his mind for a just a moment. You have half the mind to plead with him to let you bring forward any happy memories he has just to give him something else to focus on but you can tell from the grim determination in his eyes that he has to do this his way. 

Wordlessly, you rise to your feet and slip out into the kitchen. You rummage through your cupboards for a large bowl and then hold it under the ice dispenser on the fridge, pushing the button over and over until the bowl is filled to the brim with the cubes. When you return to the bathroom, you notice that Bucky’s eyes lighten, only slightly but enough to tell you he’d been afraid you weren’t coming back. 

“Here,” you tell him as you settle on the floor in front of him again, crossing your legs as you hold the bowl of ice cubes out to him. He looks at it through narrowed eyes, before looking back at you with a line between his eyebrows. You place it on the floor between you and nudge it forward with a little nod. “You said it has to hurt, right? Then hold a handful of that. It will burn but it won’t damage you the way that is,” you explain, gesturing to where Bucky’s hand is still pounding the floor.

Bucky looks dubious but his hand pauses inches above the ground and reroutes, taking a handful of ice cubes instead. He stares at his fist intently, blood dripping from his split knuckles as his fingers clench around the ice. Silence falls as you both watch the ice slowly melt, the water spilling between his fingers and mixing with the red. By the time the first handful of ice has melted in Bucky’s fist, he looks calmer and more centred. 

“Works, huh?” you ask, tilting your head at him. When he nods, you give a little smile. “It will also help with the swelling, so that’s a win.”

Bucky doesn’t smile back. He looks exhausted, overflowing with guilt and self-loathing, and something you’re almost sure is embarrassment. He gives a quiet sigh, his shoulders caving inwards before he takes another handful of ice to hold tightly. His voice is rough when he speaks again. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about the faces of all the people I had killed,” he explains. “One after the other, how terrified they all looked and then everything started feeling far away. You were right beside me but I felt as though you were about to disappear, that I wouldn’t be able to reach out to you if I tried. I knew I had to stop it before… before…”

“You lost yourself,” you answer for him, and he nods. “Does this happen a lot?”

Bucky shrugs. “It happens enough.”

“And you have to hurt yourself, to keep from spiralling?” When Bucky nods, you frown, looking back to his fist that had become bright pink from the cold and the mix of blood and water. “Is that a better alternative, maybe?”

He considers it, opening his fist and inspecting the pink of his fingers. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it might be,” he says softly before scooping up another handful. He ducks his head. “Sorry I woke you,” he murmurs.

You give a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you crawl forward to sit in the space beside him, the bathroom wall cold against your back as you shuffle in close. “It’s only sleep. I’d rather you weren’t alone. After all, this is partly my fault. I’m sure having to talk about the past hasn’t helped you escape from it in your subconscious.”

Bucky shrugs. “I can’t hide from it. It’s never far from my mind so talking about it doesn’t really change much.” He leans back against the wall, his head tilting backwards as he closes his eyes. Minutes pass until a silence settles on the apartment once more, only to be broken when Bucky murmurs, “I didn’t come back right. That’s the price to pay for reincarnation.” His eyes are still closed, his face passive, but the words hurt as though he’d screamed them.

You think of Bucky in his apartment, his fist meeting anything that will leave him hurting to keep from becoming the person HYDRA made him be. Knowing what the rest of the Tower thinks of him, most of them afraid of him, some of them hating him even though they know the truth, and a city around him filled with people that know only of the Winter Solider and fear him for that. It’s no wonder Bucky is still trapped, relying on pain as a coping mechanism. Your stomach rolls at the thought, suddenly feeling claustrophobic on behalf of Bucky, and you want so much more for him it. It reminds you of your first month in the Tower, how you kept yourself from everyone, and it made everything worse as you felt yourself slip away from anything real.

“Bucky?” you ask, your eyes still focused on his fist. When he hums, you force yourself to ask the question. “When’s the last time you left the Tower?”

He frowns, considering both the question and the cause for it, before he gives a small shrug. “I haven’t left since I came back from Wakanda. They sent me there immediately after we raided the HYDRA base to try and clear out my mind. I got back two weeks before you and I formally met.”

“You’ve not been outside of the Tower since then?” you ask, incredulous. That was over two months ago. 

“I’ve been advised to stay within the Tower for safety reasons.” One side of his mouth lifts in quiet amusement. “I don’t think they mean for my own safety.”

So this is how it is. Bucky is a prisoner, not only of his own mind, but of the headquarters too. It’s no surprise he’s made almost no progress in his recovery, having to exist in a place that reminds him over and over again of the monster he believes himself to be. 

“That’s not fair! How are you meant to get better if you are forced to remain here?” You think of how you felt when Sam had taken you out to the park that morning, how much better you felt in the fresh air, amongst people, in the sunshine. Sam had known and now you jump at any chance for a trip out, letting Sam drag you to delis and arcades and ice cream shops just for an excuse to be free for a moment. You shake your head, a determination growing inside you. “No, that’s bullshit. I’m busting you out of here, some way or another. Even if it’s just for a walk, so you can be amongst the world again, not just trapped here like some sort of…” You trail off, not willing to use the word animal, and your eyes jump to Bucky’s face, giving him an apologetic look. “I mean, when you feel ready, of course.”

There’s a softness to his eyes then and you notice the ice that had been in his fist had long since melted and his hand lay open in his lap. He gives one small nod. “When I’m ready,” he agrees, quiet but determined, and it takes everything in you not to hug him. 

“Are you feeling okay, now?” you ask.

Bucky nods. “Better, yeah. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” you tell him before unfolding your legs to get to your feet. “Let’s get that hand of yours fixed up and try get some sleep, yeah?”

Bucky flexes his hand where it sits in his lap, frowning when the movement causes his knuckles to start bleeding yet again. “It’s fine, it won’t take long to heal up.”

“Sure,” you agree, giving him a teasing look. “But you’re not about to get blood all over my nice sheets, mister.”

“I… Maybe it’s better I leave?” His voice lifts at the end, a question rather than a definitive statement, and so you dismiss it with an easy flick of your hand.

“It’s late, Bucky,” you say, giving him a small smile. “Seems silly for you to leave now. I certainly don’t want you to.”

He thinks about this for a moment before nodding and getting to his feet. He says nothing as you begin to clean up his hand, his mouth a straight line as you bandage up his wounded knuckles. You’re about to make a start on cleaning up the blood from the floor when he stops you, directing you back to bed after telling you he can handle it. 

You do as he’s asked, given he seemed hell bent on it, but you don’t allow yourself to drift towards sleep, settled amongst the sheets but alert as you wait for him to return. When he emerges from the bathroom, his exhaustion is worn more heavily on his face and he stumbles towards the bed, seeming grateful to sink into the mattress. He doesn’t inch to the edge of the bed this time and there’s scarcely any space between you when you murmur goodnight once again. 

He rolls onto his side so that his back is towards you, taking in a deep breath. You watch the movement in the darkness, thinking of the way his voice had shook when he had been afraid of losing himself, the way his voice got tight when he spoke of you being far away. 

Quietly, you whisper his name into the darkness. He whispers yours, both as a question and a response. 

“Tell me if this is too much,” you answer, before moving closer and slipping one arm over his waist and pressing your forehead into the broad space between his shoulder blades. He feels warm and solid beneath your touch, and you feel the muscles in his abdomen tense up only to eventually relax. Bucky stays quiet, his breathing a little erratic. “Bucky?” you whisper, uncertain. “Is this okay?”

There’s a moment’s pause and you’re about to let go, to move back to your side, when his bandaged hand comes down to hold your arm gently. “Stay,” he murmurs. “Please. So I know you’re here.”

“Okay,” you say, shuffling in as close as possible and letting your eyes fall closed. The rise and fall of Bucky’s chest is what lulls you into a long and dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...  
>  so.  
> that infinity war trailer, huh?  
> i'm still all sorts of fucked up over steve's beard and t'challa demanding cap have his shield back. i am excited and terrified in equal measures!
> 
> thanks for reading, pals ♡


	17. seventeen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you finally meet natasha, and bucky decides it's time to step up.

> "I need the sun to break,  
>  you've woken up my heart,  
>  I'm shaking, oh,  
>  my luck could change.  
>  Been in the dark for weeks and I've realized you're all I need,  
>  I hope that I'm not too late.  
>  I hope I'm not too late."  
>  need the sun to break // james bay

“I’m impressed… You’re getting rather good at this,” Wanda praises, clapping her hands together as you take a half step back, brushing away the hair that’s fallen into your face. 

Your hand comes back damp from the sweat that has begun to bead along your hairline, a physical manifestation of the extreme strain your mind had been through, but you smile regardless of your own exhaustion and flush under the praise. 

“Thank you,” you answer, straightening up. “A lot of that comes down to you, however. Letting me poke around your mind like I am… I know it’s not easy.”

Wanda gives a small smile. “Incredibly, it gets easier the more we do it. Do you feel more in control?”

“That’s an understatement.”  
It’s incredible how comfortable you’ve grown with the colours that bloom around the people in your life, how much easier it is to block them out and keep from accidentally tugging them. Your understanding of the colours and what they represent has also come a long way, a testament to Wanda’s training. Today’s session had consisted of her calling out a certain feeling and you had to sift through the colours to find the closest match, though you both strayed away from the darkest of the colours. “I know it’s not an incredible superpower in the grand scheme of things, not exactly useful, but perhaps it’s not as awful as I once thought,” you continue, smiling a little as you remember how Wanda had looked when you’d enhanced some of her happier memories. Most of them had consisted of time spent with Pietro, but there were a few that had occurred within the Avengers tower. A sense of belonging had overwhelmed you during these memories, a feeling you are beginning to recognise in yourself. 

“I wouldn’t sell yourself so short,” Bruce pipes up from where he’s slumped over a bench, trailing through a dusty textbook. When he looks up, his glasses sit slightly askew on his face to match the fluffy mess of his hair. He’s on day three of bare minimum sleep, a new secret project eating away all of his time, and the affects have already started to show. “I mean, when’s the easiest time to get someone to bend to your will without force? People agree to all sorts of things when they’re happy.”

You consider this for a moment. “You’re not wrong, actually. Perhaps I can be useful after all.” A pause, and then you shake your head. “Not that I’m vying for a role in the Avengers, mind, but it’s a good skill to have.”

“Don’t be so quick to think that it’s out of the question,” Wanda says, quirking her eyebrows upward in amusement. “Tony’s been tracking your progress and I’m almost certain he’s already drawn up a contract should you want it… He’s very eager to keep you with us.”

A warm, almost affectionate flush came over you at the thought… The mere idea of belonging so alluring to you that it hurts when a cold slash of reality turns your mood sour and you shake your head. “I’ve told Tony before, I won’t hurt people. I can’t be what he wants me to be. I’m thankful for everything he’s done… for your help and your kindness but my goal is to grow strong enough in my abilities to contain them and return to a normal life.”

“That’s admirable,” Wanda says, nodding. “I know there are plenty of us here that wish for the same chance.” She looks over to Bruce and you follow her gaze, feeling your heart quiver a little when he gives a small nod, the tiny smile on his face made solemn by the weariness of his eyes. 

Guilt rushes in and you wish you could take it back as you look to Wanda. “I didn’t… I’m sorry. That’s… That was thoughtless of me. Of course, hardly any of you signed up for this life out of sheer desire.”

Wanda shakes her head and glides across the space between you to pat at your shoulder gently. “Do not apologise. Life has brought me here and for that, I am grateful. To have a family, to be a part of something. That is more than I imagined for myself not so long ago. You have a different path you wish to take and I hope more than anything that you get to travel it as you please.”

Raising a hand to cover Wanda’s, you squeeze her fingers gratefully but there’s something about her words that leaves you confused, as though something has changed in your own mind but you’re not certain what that may be.

“Wherever your path takes you, I’m sure it will be made a fraction easier now that you can bend anyone to your will in the nicest way possible,” Wanda continues, the edges of her lips turned upwards conspiringly. “You’ll be loved wherever you go, given you’ll always remind people of the happiest moments in their life. That’s not misusing your abilities either, it’s a win-win situation I think. People would pay thousands to be able to relive the best moments of their life over again and you’ll be going around, doing it for free.”

Before you have a chance to say anything more, another voice emerges as a woman strolls into the room in a fitted, black bodysuit and a flash of fiery red hair.

“Sounds like quite the ability, plucking at people’s emotions,” Natasha says breezily, offering a smile around the room and reaching out to muss up Bruce’s hair as she passes, murmuring an affectionate, “Hello trouble.”

Bruce grins, straightening up from where he’d been slumped over the table and pushing his glasses further up his nose. “Nat, hey. How long have you been back?”

“Long enough to catch up on the Tower gossip,” she responds, her eyes back on you as she moves in closer. You swallow harshly, finding yourself pinned under her thoughtful gaze. 

“Let me guess, Hawkeye?” Bruce asks, laughing a little when Natasha nods. “That’s not surprising. Mission go well?”

“Not for them.” Natasha turns back to Bruce with a sly grin. “It’s nice to be back, however.” She turns back, her gaze moving past you as she nods to Wanda before she’s moving closer with an intrigued gaze. “So how does it work, this ability of yours?”

“Uh,” you answer, overwhelmed being an understatement for how you feel right now. There’s something about Natasha’s presence that has you wanting to impress, as well as being terrified of getting on the wrong side of her. You try not to think about how many people had met their ends crossing Black Widow. You clear your throat, tossing a glance to Wanda who smiles easily, before looking back at Natasha. “I see emotions as colours, all different shades, and when I reach out for them, I enhance that feeling and the memory it’s attached to. I’m still learning, but with Wanda and Bruce’s help, I’ve been able to start interpreting between different emotions and their corresponding colours.”

“Huh.” Natasha’s perfectly shaped eyebrow rises, the hint of a smile on her face. “Well now this I have to see. How about you have a go with me? Nothing like a bit of challenge to help refine your skill, right?”

You hesitate, your eyes flying to Wanda’s face. “I – it’s not pleasant, is the thing, and can be extremely overwhelming…”

Wanda nods. “Heed her warnings, Nat. It took me quite by surprise.”

Natasha doesn’t lift her gaze from you. “I can handle it.”

Anxiety bubbles in the pit of your stomach at the thought of repeating your first attempt with Wanda. You’re stronger now, you know this, and you’ve become more attuned to your ability but that doesn’t rid you of the fear that you’ll hurt Natasha. You look to Bruce, trying to gauge how he feels about this, but his expression remains neutral until he looks down at his watch and takes in the time. 

“Oh damn,” he murmurs, moving to his feet and closing the dusty textbook in front of him. “As much as I would love to stay, I forgot I was meant to meet Tony for lunch. We’ll catch up later Nat, yeah?”

“Looking forward to it,” Natasha says, returning the wave Bruce gives them all before he disappears out the door. Turning back to you, Natasha looks determined. “So, how about it?”

There’s nothing more you can say to deter her and you can tell by the expression on her face that her mind is made up. You nod, focusing on the energy around Natasha’s body, quietly thankful that Wanda has remained in the chance anything happens. Natasha lifts her chin upwards, waiting and watching closely as you begin to sift through the colours that curl around her slender frame. Unsurprisingly, they’re similar colours to those that surrounded the rest of the team, dark shades and mottled colours and very little in the way of vibrancy. You shy away from the darkest colours because for all of Natasha’s bravado, you know she carries some heavy demons with her and the last thing you want to do is give them any more power than they already have. You sift through for something lighter until there’s a soft burgundy. It’s fleeting, a mere flicker in the dark, but it’s enough that you can just grasp it before it disappears again. 

A gasp falls from Natasha’s lips and she looks at you, startled and wide eyed. 

“Oh,” she murmurs, and you feel yourself return the sentiment because this is different somehow. 

It reminds you of that night you’d tried to wake Bucky from his nightmare, when you had touched him and felt everything he was feeling, lived all that he was reliving. By tugging on Natasha’s memory, you somehow opened yourself up to a watered down version of it. It swirls around you, uncomfortably warm but welcome, and there’s a hint of something or someone familiar within this memory… 

“Bucky,” you choke out, forehead creasing as you try to figure out how this can be. “He’s in that memory?”

Natasha doesn’t react immediately, watching you for a moment longer before she nods slowly. “Yes. It’s a very old memory, from a different life.”

“You were close.”

A small, pained smile flickers over Natasha’s lips. “Something like that.” 

“You still care for him… but it’s different now?”

Natasha sighs. “Like I said, that memory was from a long time ago. A lot has changed. We have changed. He barely recognises me when he sees me. He won’t even talk to me, though he seems to be like that with everyone. Though not with you, so I’m told.” Her eyebrow raises again, a keen interest in her eyes that makes you flush. 

You know that it’s not exactly a secret that since you and Bucky had that heart to heart a week and a half ago, you’ve not once gone to bed alone. It isn’t something the two of you had discussed, in fact, neither of you brought attention to the fact that Bucky would appear on your doorstep as you’re preparing for bed and wordlessly you’d allow him in, the two of you settling in side by side before sleep would pull you under and Bucky would fight it off for as long as he could. There had been only one or two incidents in this time where Bucky would jerk away, screaming and sweating or worse, silent with haunted eyes and you’d talk him down until you could both settle again. It didn’t bother you, the interrupted sleep, as much as Bucky would apologise for it. There’s something comforting in the knowledge of having Bucky beside you, in waking up with his warmth radiating through the bed. It made you feel a lot less alone and it’s easier not spending all your time worrying about Bucky when all you have to do is look over to find him there looking back at you. 

Though it’s not as though either of you had drawn attention to it, in a community where everybody lives in each other’s back pockets and with Tony using FRIDAY’s security system to his own nosy advantage, it didn’t take long for word to get around that the Winter Soldier’s apartment was left empty every night. Nobody had outright said anything to you but suddenly Cap’s throwing concerned looks at you whenever he thinks you aren’t looking, unable to bring himself to say anything, and Sam can’t stop wearing that smug grin as though he knows something you don’t. It has crossed your mind that you should say something to put their minds at ease, Cap’s at least given he’s too polite to ask the question, and explain that it’s not what they think only how does one put such a thing into words? If you heard anyone else explain platonic bed sharing, you wouldn’t take it for face value and would continue thinking there’s something else going on. Only in your case, platonic bed sharing is exactly what’s going on. It’s a coping mechanism, for the both of you, and you decided against trying to convince people against what they already thought because it doesn’t matter. Yours and Bucky’s relationship is something fragile, shaky, given how often he tries to hide himself away with the intentions of protecting you, and you didn’t want to give him any reason to pull away from you again, not when you’d come this far. 

“We’re helping each other,” you explain carefully, hating how protective you’ve become over your friendship with Bucky. “Trying too, at least.”

Natasha nods, a soft smile on her face. “I’m glad. Bucky’s got a long road in front of him. It’s good that he’s got people who care for him.”

“Do you…” You pause, suddenly unsure if you should even delve into the subject further but it’s been playing on your mind for some time and Natasha cares for Bucky. Regardless of the change of circumstances, you can feel it all over her. “Do you know he’s not meant to leave the Tower? He’s being kept in like some sort of… monster. Which is exactly how he sees himself. I’m afraid…” You take a deep breath, looking up to catch Natasha’s eye. “I’m afraid he won’t get any better if he’s kept isolated like this.”

“I know that it has been… suggested to him to remain within the Tower,” Natasha begins, choosing her words carefully. “Though I don’t believe that’s all that’s keeping him here. But you have to understand that while what happened to him was beyond awful, it has changed him and will always affect him in some way or another. He was manipulated into being a weapon and no matter how much work goes into bringing him back to himself, there’s always going to be a part of him that is that ruthless weapon they made him be.”

Natasha stops, noticing the tears that you’ve been trying to blink back and sighs. “I’m not trying to be cruel but you must know that in his state, having him out among the public with no knowledge of how he could act if he comes up against any triggers… It’s not wise. Tony understands that better than anyone. He takes it upon himself to be held responsible for any of our mishaps and he would never forgive himself if anything happened. Bucky knows that also, it’s part of what keeps him here. He doesn’t want to put himself in a position to do any more harm.”

You sniff quietly, brushing away a stray tear with the heel of your hand. “I just hate the idea of him being trapped here. It’s the most suffocating feeling and after everything he’s been through, it’s just not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” Natasha agrees. “It’s quite honestly bullshit but then any of us here can argue that life has been very unfair. For some reason, greatness comes with great tragedy – or something equally dramatic or poet.” She rolls her eyes, the edges of her lips turning upwards. “I’m glad Bucky has you,” she says suddenly. “You clearly care about him and he trusts you. Just don’t push him too hard, okay? I know you want to help him but he has to set the pace. It’s his recovery and no matter how long it takes, it has to be his. He’s had everything else taken from him so at least allow him to be the one to reclaim himself.”

Her words holds so much truth that for a moment, all you can do is repeat them over in your mind until eventually you nod. Natasha gives a small laugh, nudging her shoulder in yours in a way that’s almost playful.

“I’m not really one for heart to hearts, especially this early in knowing someone,” she admits, making a face. “In fact, I’m not one for these types of talks at all so let’s keep this between us, hey?”

“Noted,” you say easily. “How about we grab some lunch instead? I think Sam said something about making burgers today.”

“Sam’s cooking is to die for,” Natasha groans, nodding eagerly. “Yes, let’s do that.”

*******

As the next few days passed, you find yourself revisiting Natasha’s words time and time again. The more time you spend with Bucky, the more you want to help, to take him from the hell inside his head and find somewhere safe for him to exist but you know Natasha has a very fair point. His recovery is his own, but it’s hard to keep your hands to yourself when he fights off a nightmare from beside you and the allure of drawing forth a positive emotion is almost too much. 

He’s been mostly silent this evening, a side of Bucky you’ve become accustomed too. He showed up like clockwork the moment you’d slipped into your pyjamas, and he waited patiently as you pottered around the apartment brushing your teeth and packing away your textbooks. He had seemed distant, deep in thought and far away, but his hair was tied back – a tell you’ve begun to look for as a gauge for how Bucky’s feeling. Hair down when it’s just the two of you seemed to always indicate he’s attempting to hide himself away.  
As much as you’d wanted to ask what’s on his mind, you thought better of it and merely slipped into bed, feeling the other side dip as Bucky crawls in beside you. A large yawn takes over you the minute you’ve settled into bed but your mind is still replaying Natasha’s warning over and over. The last thing you want to do is set Bucky back in his recovery, no matter how much it kills you to think you could be doing more to help. 

Bucky takes in a deep breath, rolling onto his side and tentatively rests on arm over your waist with barely any weight behind it, as though he’s waiting for you to shoo him away. You settle your hand on top of his, applying a gentle pressure to let him know it’s okay, and he relaxes beneath your touch, inching closer still. Since that first night, you haven’t fallen asleep without Bucky in reach. It’s a comfort to feel him near, to hear his breathing in your ear and to have the heady, masculine scent of his skin linger on your sheets. It’s in the short moments of peaceful sleep Bucky manages that you see him the most open and relaxed, something that you hold onto when you feel helpless during the moments when his nightmares take a hold. 

“Goodnight,” Bucky murmurs, his lips almost grazing the back of your neck as you whisper goodnight in return, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. 

You think of all the disproving, almost concerned looks Cap has given you since the news has moved around the Towers of Bucky’s empty flat and wonder if what’s actually happening behind closed doors is better or worse than what he thinks is happening. It’s no secret in your own mind that you’ve grown to care for Bucky more than you ever knew possible and it almost scares you, when you know how easily he can pull away. 

Natasha’s words about Bucky’s recovery still circled your mind but in a different way now as they had you considering your own recovery. Your cell phone still remained switched off in your bedside table and the emails from your family had grown more concerned the longer you stay away. You’re getting better, you know it enough to admit it to yourself. The control you have over your abilities, the way you’re no longer scared of your own shadow, it’s all good, positive stuff. The time is coming for you to reconnect to your family and possibly even consider leaving the tower, but you don’t quite know how that’s possible when it means leaving Bucky behind. That thought feels like a strong hand around your throat and you push it away as quickly as you can. 

Rather than allow yourself to think on this, you snuggle further beneath the covers and against Bucky’s warmth, doing your best to ignore the thoughts that grow frantic in your mind in favour of sleep. 

When you stir again, it’s early morning and the bed beside you is empty. It’s unsurprising; Bucky’s an early riser, preferring to be up at the crack of dawn to escape his subconscious and hit the gym instead. You stretch languidly, spreading out in your now empty bed without opening your eyes in the hopes that you can drift back into the dream you’d been having. You don’t remember anything beyond the feel of golden sunshine and warmth but it had been so comfortable, you’re eager to return. 

Just as sleep is about to take you back, you sense someone in the room with you and crack open an eye to find Bucky standing in the door frame. He’s freshly showered, his face clean of his normal scruff, and he’s wearing something other than the usual sweats and hoodie combo you had grown used to. He shifts slightly under your stare in his dark jeans and a blue Henley that looks to be a size too small given the way it clings his shoulders and chest like a second skin. The clothes are clearly not his own, picked out by somebody else on his return to the Towers perhaps, but he looks incredibly good. You realise after a moment that you’re still staring at him wordlessly and the crease between his eyebrows has appeared as he continues to shift restlessly under your unrelenting gaze.

You clear your throat, offering him a small smile. “Morning. What’s going on here?” You gesture vaguely in his direction, seeing his eyebrows dip. “I mean, I certainly approve. You look… You look good.”

“I think it’s time,” Bucky says, standing up a little straighter, the line of his shoulders visibly tense. “I want to go out.”

“Yeah?” you ask, slowly pulling yourself up into a sitting position. “Are you sure?”

Bucky blinks, considering, before he gives a determined nod. “Yes.”

“Bucky…” you trail off, hearing only Natasha’s warning on loop in your mind. “Is this something you want to do or something you think you have to do? I don’t want to… push you into anything.”

He shakes his head. “I want to… try.” He looks terrified, is the thing. No obviously, his soldier’s stance does well to hide any obvious emotion, but you can see it in the smaller details of his face and from the way it rolls off him in waves. You can understand why, naturally, after all this time he’s been locked away and with all of his past history. Going out means entering unfamiliar territory and unexpected situations that he can’t account for. This could so easily become a disaster, you realise, and upon seeing a frown come across your face, Bucky takes a step forward. “Please.”

When you meet his gaze again, you can see how much he wants this. There’s no part of you that can deny him and so you nod, slowly. 

“Okay,” you concede. “But the moment you feel uncomfortable or you’ve had enough, you’ll tell me, yeah? Don’t feel you have to prove anything. We’ll do this together.”

He nods, determined. 

“Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to go?” 

Bucky looks uncertain then. You can only imagine he’s searching through his old memories, trying to find somewhere that might remind him of his former self, but he says nothing, eventually giving a small shake of his head. 

“How about Central Park?” you suggest, thinking of how much you had enjoyed it when Sam first busted you out of the tower. “We could even invite Steve and Sam, maybe take up Sam on that rematch of Frisbee, hey?” You grin a little at the suggestion and the corners of Bucky’s mouth flicker upwards.

“Yeah.” He nods. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

A warmth blooms across your chest as you recognise there’s something close to eagerness in Bucky’s expression, something you’ve not seen him wear before. “Good,” you say, before catching sight of the alarm clock on your bedside table. Groaning, you fall back onto your bed. “Firstly however, you’re making me a cup of tea as penance for getting me up so damn early, you absolute jerk.”

You peel open one eye to give a half-hearted glare only to see Bucky’s grinning, a proper one that makes him look younger, whole even, before he’s shaking his head and turning in the direction of the kitchen. Half a moment later, you hear the kettle start and smile into your pillow, feeling a comforting blanket of contentment cover you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas, happy holidays, and seasons greetings to all of you lovely people! i hope you are all safe and happy!
> 
> the reason this chapter is up later than i'd hoped is because i accidentally watched netflix's 'a christmas prince' which was wonderfully terrible and ended up having to write a prince bucky au version of it. so if you're in the need of something cheesy and festive, i've got you covered! (shameless self-plug hi hello)
> 
> thank you all for reading! ♡


	18. eighteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky goes outside, steve doesn't approve but comes along, sam approves and is ready to kick your butt in frisbee once again.

> "I'm scared,  
>  I've never fallen from quite this high,  
>  falling into your ocean eyes,  
>  those ocean eyes."  
>  ocean eyes // billie eilish

“I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

Unsurprisingly, this is exactly how you’d imagined Steve reacting. After Bucky had made an offering of tea and you’d dragged yourself through the motions of showering and getting dressed, you’d tracked down Steve and Sam having breakfast in the common area. The minute you’d begun explaining exactly what Bucky planned to do today, the lines on Steve’s forehead grew deep and his lips haven’t stopped tightening since you opened your mouth. You’re glad you told Bucky to wait back so that you could have this conversation without him present because you’re almost certain that Steve’s expression alone would have Bucky relenting to appease him. 

You try and hold back a huff. “It’s been nearly four months since he’s been outside of this tower, and even that wasn’t for good reasons. Keeping him cooped up in here is cruel.”

“And what if something happens?” Steve fires back, pushing his plate back so it scrapes noisily against the kitchen counter. “What if he ends up hurting himself or God forbid, someone else? It would be crueller to put him through the guilt and self-hatred that would come if he can’t control himself.” Steve stops himself, inhaling sharply before looking up at you, his eyes softer. “I know you want to help him but pushing him outside of his comfort zone is not the way to do it.”

The sting of Natasha’s words flaring up in your mind almost has you flinching but you stand up straighter, meeting Steve’s gaze. “I promise, I haven’t put him up to this. I said that when he felt ready, I would help him, but he’s the one who has decided that he wants to go out today. Who am I to deny him that decision?”

“I don’t want to risk something happening that would set back his recovery,” Steve answers.

“His recovery is already dragging, Steve,” you explain. “Being locked up in this tower day in and day out, it’s not helping him in any way. Treating him like a monster is not doing anything to help convince him he’s anything else. You have to see that he’s not doing okay. He’s trying, he’s really trying, but there’s only so much isolation and imprisonment one can take before it takes its toll.”

Steve winces at the word monster before swallowing roughly and lowering his eyes from you to focus on the bench in front of him. His jaw is tight, the muscle working back and forth as he considers your words before he’s looking over to Sam. “What do you think?”

Sam’s eyebrows flick upwards briefly, as though he hadn’t expected to be tapped into this argument. He runs his thumb along his jawline. “Kid’s got a point,” he says as he looks to Steve. “Reintegrating returning servicemen and women into society is an incredibly important step in their recovery. It’s in no way easy, but it is necessary. It helps them reconnect with the world, allows them the chance to connect with people and adjust to civilian life again. It’s not unsurprising that Bucky’s recovery is at a standstill; there’s only so much one can do within four walls. Even if those walls include a movie theatre, a Jacuzzi pool, and a private gym.” Sam grins a little before turning to you, one eyebrow raised. “However, I can’t imagine you’ve talked this over with Stark and you know he won’t be happy about it.”

“He has, in not so many words but through heavy implication, limited Bucky to this tower,” Steve points out. “I doubt he will take it lightly if we take Bucky out.”

You give a little shrug, hoping to elude nonchalance while in reality, you’re just as worried about Tony’s reaction as Steve. “What’s that saying? Easier to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission?”

Sam snorts, shaking his head. “This is a recipe for trouble but hey, I’m in. I think we could both do with an airing, hey big fella?” He claps a hand down onto Steve’s broad shoulder but Steve hardly registers the gesture, still too focused on you with his forehead furrowed and his mouth a tight line. 

“There’s no knowing what might set him off,” Steve says slowly. “His mind is better, but it’s nowhere near perfect. The team in Wakanda could only do so much. So how do we prevent something happening?”

“We can’t,” you answer, “because like you said, there’s no way to predict what might happen. We can only be there in support and to help stop him if… if anything should happen.” You try for a smile, though it feels flimsy on your face, saturated by apprehension. “Why else do you think I’ve invited you two, huh? Tony will have to give me some credit – I brought back up in the form of two very capable Avengers.”

“Very capable, huh?” Sam smirks, quirking his eyebrows once before getting to his feet. “Flattery will get you everywhere, kid,” he says, messing up your hair as he walks past to stack his plate in the dishwasher. “I’m going to go grab my shoes and I’ll meet you down in the lobby in ten, sound good?”

You nod, relieved to have Sam on your side. “Yes! Excellent, see you soon. And make sure to bring the frisbee!”

Sam waves over his shoulder and then he’s gone, leaving you alone with a stony faced Cap. You swallow roughly, trying to think of what to say to ease the tension that’s appeared between you. The last thing you want to do is upset Steve but it seems you’re well on your way. 

“Steve, you told me a while back you wanted Bucky to open up to you. That you wanted to help him with his recovery,” you start softly, biting down on your lower lip as you watch Steve’s expression flicker. “This… this could be a really good place to start. This was all him, I swear, and I think he’s… excited about it. Anxious, most definitely, but to have you there would make this somewhat easier for him, I think.”

Steve considers you for a moment before he deflates, exhaling with a small nod. “Okay,” he murmurs, nodding again and then he’s looking at you closely once again. There’s no denying the curiosity in the bright blue of his eyes. “He clearly trusts you and you… you care for him.”

There’s no question there, merely a statement, but it’s loaded. Immediately, you feel yourself grow restless and have to look away from his face as you nod. 

“Like I said before, we’re helping each other,” you say. It’s not enough, given the way Steve continues to look at you, and so you sigh. “You can ask the question. I know you want to.”

Suddenly, Steve’s gaze drops to the floor and you’re shocked to see the tips of his ears have gone pink as he shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be right of me.”

You can’t stop the small smile that appears on your face at this and immediately you give in to him, unwilling to leave him uncomfortable any longer. “Well, it’s not what you think, anyway. We’re just two friends, helping each other in whatever way we can.”

Steve nods, his eyes rising to settle on the countertop but go no further. “Right. Okay.” There’s a moment’s pause and then he sneaks a glance at you. “I wouldn’t… If there was something… I wouldn’t protest it, you know. Not that it matters what I think but I’d be, uh, happy for you both.”

It’s your turn to feel your face grow hot as you drop your gaze and try to focus on not stuttering out a reply. “Oh. No. Uh, it’s not – no, we’re not… No?” When you manage to look up again, there’s something close to a grin on Steve’s face.

“Okay,” he says easily, nodding once. “Sure.”

You clear your throat awkwardly. “Yeah. So. Uh. You coming or?” When Steve nods, you give him a grateful smile. “Well, I’ll see you downstairs in ten, then.” You leave first, ignoring the grin you can feel being directed at your retreating form.

*******

It’s not an entirely overcast day, with patches of blue sky and the odd bit of sunlight peeking out through the clouds and the warmth on your face helped to ease the tightness in your shoulders. Escaping the Avengers Tower had been your immediate worry, half afraid that all sorts of warning bells would sound and a furious Tony Stark would appear the minute Bucky moved through the lobby, but there had been nothing of the sort. You aren’t ignorant to the fact that Tony almost definitely already knows, but he hasn’t sent someone out to round you up just yet, which you’re immensely grateful for. 

Now it’s just a matter of focusing on Bucky and hoping today’s outing will be successful. It’s nearing mid-morning and it’s rather quiet for the park, with a few mothers chasing after toddlers wobbly in their new found freedom, and the odd dog walker making their way through. The mundane activity of the park isn’t enough to relax Bucky, however, as he stands completely rigid between you and Steve. The tension rolls off him, obvious to you even without the amber shades that colour him, and his narrowed eyes sweep the area in constant vigilance. Steve doesn’t look much better, his attention constantly drifting back to Bucky with the lines in his forehead a worrying depth. Only Sam is playing it cool from where he stands beside you, humming easily to himself as he unearths the purple frisbee from his bag, but not before winking at a group of mothers wielding strollers who all titter excitedly amongst themselves in response. You know he’s on high alert as much as the rest of you, only he’s far better at hiding it apparently. 

Turning to face Bucky, you take in his grim expression and suddenly feel unsure of yourself. Despite all that had been said, there is still a part of you that worries you’ve pushed Bucky into this and maybe it’s too much, too fast. But there is determination in Bucky’s features also, quiet but still there, and you figure you have to give Bucky some credit. He said he wants to do this, so you’re doing this. You reach out, your fingers brushing lightly against the material of the glove concealing the metal of his left hand. His eyes dart downwards, watching as you curl your fingers around his and squeeze lightly. When he finally looks up at your face, you offer him a smile. 

“You okay?”

Bucky considers it for a moment, scanning the perimeter of the park once more before taking in a breathe and looking back to you. “I think so. It all looks so different but… the same, too.”

You squeeze his hand once more, surprised and delighted when he returns the gesture. “Well, that’s something. It’s not a bad day for it!”

“It’s not a bad day for me to kick your butt again!” Sam goads, before Bucky can get a word in, and tosses the frisbee up with a grin, cackling when you growl in response. 

“You’ll be regretting that, Wilson! Bucky and I will beat some humility into you, one way or another,” you retort, flicking your eyebrows at Bucky conspringinly. It’s small and stiff, but the smile Bucky produces is very much real. 

Before you can say anything further, Steve steps forward and places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “We’re with you pal, you know that right? The minute you feel overwhelmed, we can head back. You just have to let us know, okay? You call the shots.” When Bucky gives a quick nod, Steve pats his back encouragingly before a slight smile takes over his features. “Also, I hope you two are hungry, because you’re about to gorge yourselves on your own defeat.” 

You give a noise of protest as Steve jogs in the direction of Sam, cackling to himself as you shake your head. “Hope you’ve got an appetite yourself Rogers, because you’ll be eating those words!” When you look at Bucky, you can see faint amusement in his eyes which gives you hope. “So what do you say Buck, should we take them down a notch?”

Bucky nods once, and despite the heavy line between his brows, the upwards tilt of his mouth speaks volumes. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

The first few games don’t go in your favour. Even with Steve holding back so that the frisbee doesn’t end up in Vermont, you’re almost playing solo with Bucky being so reserved, too stiff and hyper aware of his space to do much more than occasionally pluck the frisbee from the air when it’s comes too close. Even with your improved stamina thanks to all the workouts Sam and Steve had put you through, you find yourself breathless from exertion but also from laughter. Sam and Steve were ridiculous together, working seamlessly together one minute and arguing over their strategies the next. And nothing made you laugh more than Sam’s victory dances, enough so that you didn’t really care it came at the price of you losing. 

When you stop for a breather, the sun has peeked out through the clouds once more, highlighting your little patch of the park in a warm gold that brightens Bucky’s eyes as he steps up next to you. For perhaps the first time, you see Bucky’s eyes not as a reserved grey but as a warm blue and it almost catches you off guard. The smile already strung across your face remains, almost frozen as you catch Bucky taking you in. There’s something about his eyes, the intensity behind the warmth, that makes it harder to breathe.

“M’sorry,” he starts. “I’m pretty sure we’re losing.”

You give a little laugh, shaking your head to free yourself from his gaze. “No Bucky, we’re having fun! Sure, beating Sam would be amazing, but it’s not why we’re here,” you remind him, leaning into him playfully. He blinks, taking this in before giving a little nod. His shoulders have relaxed some, though his gaze is still sporadic as he constantly takes in his surroundings. You nudge him gently to bring his attention back to you. “You feeling okay?”

Bucky looks surprised when he nods. “It’s really nice. Being out and… being with you all.”

You can’t fight the smile that appears on your face. This was all you wanted, for Bucky to enjoy himself. It’s a small step, you know that, and it would take some time for him to be completely comfortable out in public but you know instantly that whatever lecture you’re in for when you get back to the Tower, it’s completely worth this moment here. 

“Alright, losing team, up for another round?” Sam taunts, wiggling the frisbee in your direction as he and Steve get back into positions. 

“Good to see you remain a gracious winner,” you call back, grinning at Bucky before spreading out and throwing your hands up. “Bring it on, birdy!”

Next thing you know, there’s a neon purple disc being hurled over your head, followed by a manic laugh from Sam who seems to take delight in catching you off guard. Unwilling to let Sam have one more thing to gloat about, you take off after the frisbee despite knowing that there’s little chance of you being able to catch it by this point until you feel Bucky at your side. He throws an arm around your waist, hoisting you up against his side so that your feet dangle inches above the ground as he charges forward. What had at first seemed like a long shot no longer did as Bucky caught up to the frisbee, pushing you forward in the process until his hands bracket your hips and he launches you into the air. You’re acting on instinct at this point as you fly through the air, reaching out until your fingertips brush the frisbee and you can snatch it up. 

There’s a moment of panic as you feel your body begin to fall back to the ground. It leaves you fighting to curl yourself around the frisbee, attempting to move into brace position as best you can as you prepare for the impact of the ground. Only instead of the unforgiving feel of solid earth beneath you, you are caught by two steady arms who immediately pull you close. Bucky holds you to him for a beat longer, waiting until you let out a shaky exhale before he sets you down on your feet. He stays close, ready to help keep you up right should you stumble, and watches you with a wary expression as though he’s expecting a reprimand. 

You look down at the frisbee in your hand and back at Bucky, a wide grin stretching across your face and then you’re throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug. Half dizzy from the action and the excitement, you don’t expect to feel him reciprocate the hug, which only makes the moment all that much sweeter when he does. When you break away, you hold up the frisbee with a cheshire grin and shake it in Sam and Steve’s direction. 

“Now for the real fun,” you announce, flinging the disc back towards them as you notice their matching smiles. 

The afternoon creeps in slowly, ignored in the wake of the laughter and general horseplay that is going on. Bucky is finally well and truly present, no longer afraid to run and jump and chase after the frisbee with everything he has. Steve starts to put more effort into his throws and Bucky makes sure to match it, leaving Sam and yourself struggling to keep up but enjoying yourselves all the same. To anyone that passes your corner of the park, you look like a group of friends with no cares in the world as you all chase after a silly piece of plastic, easy banter and laughter the soundtrack to your games. 

Eventually, you and Sam end up on the sidelines, needing a moment to recuperate. Sam pulls out a bottle of water from his bag, offering it up to you as you both watched the super soldiers continue the game on their own. 

Steve and Bucky’s laughter fills the air as they only grow more competitive and begin to show off, throwing the frisbee further and with more force at one another. You take a long drag from the bottle before handing it back over to Sam, both of you unable to hide your smiles at the ridiculous scene in front of you. 

“Unbelievable,” Sam mutters through his grin. “Look at these senior citizens, showing us up.”

“It’s got to be all that porridge they eat, surely,” you joke, watching as Bucky executes a series of complicated and impressive flips to grab the frisbee before it can touch the ground. 

Sam turns to you, mouth open and readying a reply that never comes. You don’t have time to register exactly what happens next, only that there’s a loud, echoing bang that comes first, followed by the feeling of your body hitting the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, uh, surprise? 
> 
> it's been a while, huh? i'd been aiming to finish this fic by march, which clearly didn't happen, and that was so i didn't leave you all hanging for months on end while i travelled around europe. which is the reason for my absence, and i'm very sorry it's been such a time! also can you believe marvel killed us all with infinity war? illegal! i saw it twice in cinemas and cried both times, then watched it on my flight home whilst crying yet again. yikes. 
> 
> i'm not sure how many of you are still around, but if you are, thank you for being here! and thank you to all the lovely comments that helped bring me back to this fic and reminded me how much i enjoy writing it. hopefully i'm not too rusty!
> 
> thanks for reading ♡


	19. nineteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what seems like it could be a set back in bucky's recovery may actually be progress in disguise.

> "I just wanna know what's in your head,  
>  write it on a piece of paper, honey,  
>  put it in my coat before I go,  
>  hidden in a place you know I'll find it, oh,  
>  later when I'm sitting all alone.  
>  Let me in, everything starts at your skin, so new.  
>  Your love's always finding me out, who am I kidding?  
>  If all my defences come down, oh baby,  
>  will you lay it all on me now?"  
>  lay it on me // vance joy

 

There’s two heart beats inside your chest. The first is more pronounced, a confused flutter that can’t quite keep to the rhythm, the other distant but unrelenting - it’s heavy beat ricocheting through you is what helps you surface from the initial panic. You will yourself to take a breath, the feel of the ground solid beneath your back, but you don’t yet open your eyes. There’s a dizziness that sits behind your eyelids that you’re not quite ready to deal with and so you listen, trying to piece together what is happening from sound alone but all you can hear is blood rushing past your ears and heavy exhales from above you. 

You can feel that you are boxed in, covered by a body that keeps you pinned down by their own weight so that you can do little more than just lie there, waiting for your senses to completely return to you and for that nauseating dizziness to pass. The feel of warm air against your cheek from above you begins to slow and you try and breathe with it to calm yourself. Other sounds begin to trickle in, the ever present noise of New York traffic, a dog barking, muffled voices, and a bird crying out in alarm. Then there’s a voice that comes from somewhere close by. 

“Bucky, it was a car backfiring,” the voice explains, as gentle as a child’s reassurance. “It’s okay.”

It’s Sam’s voice, you realise after a moment, and that understanding helps you anchor to reality. You breathe in as deeply as you can manage, pushing through the dizziness that is slowly waning in your head, and open your eyes to look up into the wide eyes of Bucky Barnes. The expression on his face is reminiscent of the one he had worn that night you had woken him from his nightmare all those weeks ago and it's heartbreaking. The line between his eyebrows is present, his confusion evident in his twitching lips as he tries to make sense of what’s real and what’s occurring on in his mind. 

His arms are settled on either side of your head and his entire body is pressed against yours to shield you from the perceived threat which means you can feel how every part of him is trembling. The muscles in his jaw are working overtime, ticking furiously as he continues to stare down at you, seeing through you as he fights to come back to himself. You can still hear Sam talking from beside you, his tone firm and reassuring. 

“...playing frisbee in the park,” Sam says. “You’re with your friends, Bucky, you’re safe. It was a car backfiring, everything is okay. Bucky, breathe, alright? You’re safe. You’re okay. We’re all okay.”

There’s not enough air getting into your lungs now with Bucky’s full weight above you but you don’t dare to move, ignoring your shallow breathing as you watch his face. He’s listening, taking in Sam’s words as his eyes slowly begin to close. Sam continues to repeat himself over and over to bring Bucky back, his voice never wavering. When Bucky opens his eyes again, he’s looking at you and this time, he can see you. He’s present once more, searching over your face as you try offer him a shaky smile. It’s nearly impossible to move but you manage to curl your fingers into the fabric of Bucky’s shirt just above his hip, holding onto him. 

“Bucky,” you murmur, echoing Sam’s words. “We’re okay.”

The downward turn of Bucky’s mouth eases, though the line in his forehead remains as he slowly nods. “Yeah,” he whispers back. “We’re okay.” He shifts then, only enough to put his weight onto his arms and allowing you to breathe in deeply, but he doesn’t move away from you. 

You can still feel his body shaking and whether it’s from fear or the effort to keep himself together, you can’t be sure. Bucky’s movement leaves your arms no longer pinned down and you’re about to reach out to him when you hear Sam’s voice in your head. It’s not present day Sam’s voice, but the Sam who visited your school all those years ago, and you remember how he listed the do’s and don’ts for helping someone suffering from a PTSD flashback. 

“Bucky, can I - ?” You’re not given the chance to finish, only barely moving your hands to indicate your intention when Bucky is nodding and hunching down to rest his forehead against your shoulder. Immediately, you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders as best you can despite his hulking frame and the odd positioning making it hard, and you hold onto him tightly. 

His breathing falls into sync with your own, slowing down with each exhale, and you reach one hand up to stroke at his hair. You keep talking to him, murmuring the same reassurances Sam had started until you notice that his shaking has stopped. You can feel the tension as it leaves his body, feeling the way he begins to slump into your embrace as the fight in him is expelled, leaving only an exhausted shell behind. 

There’s movement either side of you, and you look up to see that Sam and Steve are kneeling around you. Sam gives you a little nod, seemingly unperturbed by the fact you are cradling a super soldier in the middle of Central Park, while Steve watches on with that pinched expression of concern on his face. You can almost hear him thinking ‘I told you so’, but for the sake of everyone, you’re glad he doesn’t outright say it. Moments pass and the world keeps turning and eventually, Bucky pulls away and moves himself into a sitting position while you do the same, still watching him carefully.

“How are you feeling, Buck?” Steve asks, lowering his arm after he catches himself about to reach out for Bucky. 

Bucky doesn’t notice, his eyes trained on the grass by his feet. He gives a half-hearted hum, a soft considering sound. “I’ve been better,” he says, then lifts his eyes to glance at the three of you, almost amused. “But I’ve also been a lot worse.”

It’s enough to break the suffocating tension clouding you all and Sam huffs out a laugh. “Well, I think that’s enough fresh air for us today, hey?”

Everybody’s in silent agreement as Steve gets to his feet first, holding out his hand for Bucky who accepts and lets Steve pull him up. Once standing, Bucky sags a little into Steve’s side and Steve doesn’t hesitate this time to put a steadying arm around his friend. 

“Come on, pal, let’s get you home.” 

*******

The walk back to the Tower had passed in a silent blur, with nothing being said until all four of you stepped into the lobby elevator without any prior harassment. You’re still mystified as to why there’s no angry Tony Stark to greet you, but you know better than to think you’ll get away with this scot free. 

As the elevator makes its ascent, Sam turns to eye Bucky carefully. “I’m impressed, Barnes. You handled yourself well out there.”

If Bucky is surprised by the sudden praise, he does his best to hide it. Instead, he quirks an eyebrow casually. “I’m an impressive guy,” he deadpans.

Sam splutters out a laugh. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, shaking his head as though he can’t believe the nerve of Bucky, but it’s impossible not to see the pride in Sam’s eyes. The elevator slows to a stop and Sam steps out, turning back to offer a parting grin. “Take it easy, big guy, save some modesty for the rest of us.” 

Sam raises his hand in goodbye as the elevator doors close, leaving you, Steve, and Bucky in silence once more. There’s a restless energy bounding about the small space between the three of you, made up of all things that aren’t being said, and you find yourself growing more anxious as the elevator continues to your floor. You turn then to face Bucky, doing your best to ignore the fact that Steve is right there and clearly taking interest in what’s happening. 

Bucky stands a little straighter under you gaze, pulled to attention by the way you’re looking at him, and you realise there’s something different about this Bucky. It’s not something you can put a finger on exactly, but the way Bucky holds himself seems to lack the rigidity you remember and his eyes, they’re softer than before. Less tortured and possibly brighter, though you wonder whether you’re seeing what you want to see. 

“Bucky,” you start, your words coming in a rush in order to get them out before the elevator stops or you lose your nerve, both very possible. He blinks at you and there’s a warmth in his expression you know you’re not imagining. “I know today has been a big one. I’m really proud of you, truly, and no doubt you’ll need time to process everything but… Please, don’t disappear again. And if you have too, don’t let it be for too long, okay?”

There’s a beat of silence as Bucky’s eyebrows lift upwards, followed by an upwards tilt of his mouth as he shakes his head. “I think we’re well past that, doll,” he murmurs, as the elevator doors pull open once more. He doesn’t miss the hitch of your breathing at the pet name and the incline of his mouth grows. 

You find yourself smiling back, your cheeks warm as you focus only on Bucky, forgetting that Steve’s even there. “Good,” you nod. “I miss you when you’re gone, you know.”

He tilts his head, his smile soft. “I know the feeling. I’ll see you soon,” he tells you, the words spoken like a sincere promise. 

He doesn’t look away as you step out of the elevator, turning back to wave as he and Steve disappear behind the silver doors. You only briefly hear the faint murmur of Steve’s voice, and while you’re not able to make out the words as the elevator disappears, you recognise the tone as playful and you can’t help but grin to yourself as you head down the hallway. 

Neither the smile nor the flush of your cheeks decrease as you let yourself into your apartment and you know it’s silly to get so worked up over innocent conversation but even if that’s all it is, it feels momentous to you. It’s the first time Bucky has truly seemed at ease somewhere outside of a quiet room with you, and it’s the first time he’s asked for something from you, less in words and more so in feeling. Up until now, it felt as though Bucky was afraid to show himself wanting. He’d show up every night in your apartment but every time it felt as though he did because you had asked him too, and at any moment you might send him on his way. Everything was on your terms, because Bucky seemed to unsure of himself to push the bar, and he felt almost like a shadow to you, one that could disappear at any moment. Nothing had been certain before and while you’d wait for him to show up every night, there was always that chance he wouldn’t and that would be that. But it feels different now, because he offered first. He’s vocalised coming back to you and as small as that may seem, in the light of today, it feels like everything. 

It’s only when you hear movement in the apartment that your smile fades as you realise you’re not alone. You look up to Tony standing before you, in his normal dressed-down attire of pants and a slogan tee over a long-sleeved shirt, with his arms crossed and his expression less than pleased. Immediately, you offer him your brightest smile - the human equivalent of rolling over and exposing your belly in guilt-ridden submission. 

“Tony, hi! This is a surprise! Err, a nice one of course, it’s, um, so nice to see you!” 

Tony rolls his eyes at your saccharine tone, uncrossing his arms. “Cut the crap, short stack,” he mutters, stepping forward to trap you in the kitchen. “You know why I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't intend to end this chapter so abruptly but it got so long, i had to break it in half! 
> 
> thank you all so much for your lovely comments, i can't believe you're all being so kind after i've been awol for such a time! i wouldn't have blamed you for throwing a few rotten veggies my way but i appreciate you all so much for still being here. 
> 
> thanks for reading! ♡


	20. twenty.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tony lays it all down and bucky fears this is how he loses you.

> "Don't go to war for me,  
> I'm not the one that you want me to be.  
> -  
> Are we just gonna stay like this forever,  
> floating, I'm serious,  
> my heart is furious  
> 'cause I'm so confused when we're together.  
> Feels like I'm choking, these emotions.  
> I know I'm gonna let you down  
> so don't hold your breath now."  
> we won't // jaymes young

Tony’s eyes are dark and trained on you, making you wish you could shrink down and disappear from this confrontation. He’s not much taller than you, but his anger is palpable and it makes him seem larger, almost looming over you, as you try and think of a way to defuse the situation. 

“Because you’d been thinking about how you hadn’t seen me in a while and kind of missed me a bit so you thought you’d drop in for a cuppa?” You offer, immediately wishing you’d just kept your mouth shut. 

“Cute,” Tony huffed. “No, I think it had something to do with you taking a super soldier and ex-Hydra weapon out of this tower without permission.”

Your earlier need to soothe things over with Tony disappears the moment this sentence leaves his mouth and you find yourself straightening up, fists tightening either side of you. “You mean, Bucky - a human being - went to the park with his friends, a very normal activity for someone to participate in?”

“No, stop,” Tony growls, holding up a hand. “I see what you’re doing, don’t villainise me for this. You know yourself that Bucky is not just a regular guy, you have seen first hand what he is dealing with and the danger he carries with him. You knew that he has to stay within the compound and yet you went against that because you thought you knew better!”

“Now wait one damn minute - ”

“No, you wait! Do you know where Bucky is meant to be?”

You stop, your rage momentarily paused as you consider Tony’s question. “What on earth do you mean?”

“When Bucky resurfaced after all that crap with Zemo, his name was cleared for the disaster at the UN but he’s still a wanted man for the decades of crimes he committed in the name of Hydra.”

“But it wasn’t his fault! He wasn’t in control - he was a victim!”

“You know that. I know that. But the government doesn’t care to know that. All they see is a man with hundreds of kills under his belt, an assassin of Hydra. A threat to civilian life, even. There’s a special division of the government that is in charge of dealing with national threats, and they believe Bucky belongs to them. They wanted to keep him… detained, in a way. To use the word ‘prison’ would be a gross understatement.” Tony clears his throat, dropping your gaze. “I had to fight to keep Barnes with us. I had to make numerous promises, cash in favours, I had to bribe and beg and do a lot of unsavoury things beneath me just to keep him protected under the Avengers act. And what that means for me is that he is solely my responsibility. I have made the promise that I will keep the world safe from the Winter Solider, that I can contain him, and so when you take him out without informing anyone, he’s still my responsibility and if he hurts anyone, if he kills somebody,” Tony pauses, his voice dropping dangerously low “then that’s on me.”

“You… you did all that for Bucky? But you…” Despite cutting yourself off, you intention hangs heavy in the air and Tony gives a cold laugh, meeting your eye once again. 

“You think I hate him?”

“I mean… I don’t really know what to think. As far as I know, Bucky stays away from all the parties and the dinners because you prefer it that way. You get this look on your face whenever he’s mentioned like you… Well, yeah, like you hate him.” As these words leave your lips, you study Tony’s face as it morphs through several varying expressions and you’re suddenly reminded of what Sam had said to you all those weeks ago at the dinner party. “Wait, does this have something to do with why you and Cap aren’t speaking?”

Tony’s expression alone was confirmation enough. The warmth behind his eyes has vacated and his shoulders slump under a sigh. Hurt and anguish line his face, making the exhaustion shaded under his eyes all the more prominent and he looks at you with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen in him before. 

“If we’re going to talk about this, can I at least be comfortable?” He gestures over toward the living room and without waiting for a response, settles down on one of the couches. There’s no ease in his posture as he sits with his spine straight, as though preparing for battle, and it’s almost enough to have you call the whole thing off and tell him he doesn’t need to continue, not if it hurts so much to say aloud. 

Only your curiosity wins out and so you sit in the space beside Tony and wait. 

At first there’s only silence, then a ragged breathe as Tony seems to search for the words he needs. Eventually, he runs his hand down his face, hiding behind it for half a minute before he pulls it away and turns to look at you. His expression is open, allowing you to see the broken man hidden behind the sarcastic jokes and false bravado, and it leaves you feeling cold. 

“I’m sure you know that the UN bombing was what flushed Barnes out from hiding, and though we know now that he wasn’t at fault, at the time when he was brought into SHIELD, a decision needed to be made on what to do with him. Obviously, Steve wasn’t happy with anything that was put forth and took it upon himself to break Bucky out of custody, after Zemo managed to slip past security to get to Barnes, and attempt to stop whatever Zemo was planning to do with information he got out of him. The problem was, Steve believed Zemo’s ulterior motive was to unleash an army of Winter Soldiers, to cause as much chaos and hurt as he could. Turns out, his plan was much more refined and clever; he wanted to break up the Avengers, to punish us for those we couldn’t save.” 

Tony pauses then and you realise there are tears collecting in his eyes. You’ve never seen Tony so vulnerable and it feels wrong. This is not the man who announced himself as Iron Man on your television screen during your childhood, who simpered and sauntered through every press conference high on his own confidence, nor is he the man who had approached you when your world was falling apart, giving you an option when you thought you had none. This is the reality of what it means to be the man who is responsible for protecting the world and having to sacrifice your own happiness, your own heart, in order to do so. 

“By interrogating Barnes and tapping into his mind control, Zemo got what he needed. Intel on one of the Winter Soldier's missions. December 16th, 1991. The day my parents died. In a car crash, or so I thought,” Tony murmurs, his voice growing rough. 

Tears fill your own eyes as the pieces fall into place. “Tony,” you whisper, wanting to reach from him but afraid of what might happen should you try. 

Breathing in deeply, Tony draws himself up. “I know Barnes didn’t kill my parents. In the rational part of my brain, I know that to be the truth. It was the work of the Winter Soldier, a monster created out of a man who was broken by Hydra to be made a weapon, and I know logically that blaming Barnes is unfair, cruel even. Nobody hates him more than himself, he has to live with all the horrors committed by his own hands, even if they weren’t committed by his mind. But,” Tony says, giving you a shaky smile that falls short, “rationality and logic don’t really mean much to the human heart, do they? Surprised as you might be to know I have one.” He laughs then, the sound cold and sharp. “I can’t look at him without seeing that metal hand wrapped around my mother’s throat while she fights for her last breath. I can’t forget the methodical way he slammed my father’s head against the steering wheel over and over until his mission was complete. And what’s worse is that Steve knew about it and he didn’t tell me, because he was so desperate to protect Barnes that he would do anything, even if that meant betraying me.” Tony sighs, throwing his hands up in a gesture of helplessness. “And surprisingly, I understand that too. Barnes is the last link to his old life, the life that made sense to him before he woke up in this one. He was protecting the only family he had left and I get it, I do. But it doesn’t hurt any less.”

“Tony,” you whisper again, tears now falling freely down your cheeks.

“Aw come on kid,” Tony scolds lightly. “I didn’t tell you all that to make you cry.”

You shake your head, giving a watery laugh. “It’s not that,” you explain, though in every way it is, “I just… I don’t think you don’t have a heart. Shit, Tony, if anything, your heart is too big. After everything, you’re still protecting Bucky and in doing so, Steve too. And… and me. Despite how I acted, you still invited me in and gave me a safe place. You care so much and I… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the way I’ve acted and for not… not taking the time to thank you.”

“I’m not after your gratitude, kiddo,” Tony says, shifting uncomfortably at the thought. “Or to make you feel guilty. I just need you to understand that there’s the possibility of major repercussions for what you did today. That if anything had gone wrong, Barnes could be whisked off to some unknown location within the hour.” 

“But the thing is, it didn’t,” you say quietly, looking down at where your hands have become knotted in your lap. “I know that’s not the point, but you have to know that today was actually… a huge step for Bucky. He had a PTSD flashback after a car backfired but you know what he did?”

Tony’s face has paled, clearly not expecting you to admit that the outing had not run smoothly. 

“His first instinct was to protect me. There was a loud noise and next thing, he’d thrown himself over me and that was it, that’s all he did. It took a couple minutes for Sam to draw him out of the memory but that was all. And I think it was actually… good for him. He seemed almost… proud, that he’d been okay and he hadn’t harmed anyone. I’m not the expert of course and you should really get Sam to weigh in on this but surely that has to be a sign that the memory reprogramming he had done in Wakanda was successful?” 

You don’t realise until you finish speaking and look up to gauge Tony’s reaction to your words that he’s been watching you carefully, his eyes narrowed as though he’s working out a problem in his mind. It takes you off guard and you suddenly feel pinned down, like an experiment you didn’t know Tony is working on. 

“What about you?” Tony asks after a pause, cocking his head to one side. “How did you handle it?”

“What… do you mean? Bucky’s PTSD flashback? I mean, it took me by surprise, of course, I didn’t expect it but once I realised what was going on and once Bucky was coming around, everything was fine. I doubt anyone in the park even noticed, to be honest. It’s New York; crazier shit happens.”

Tony waves a hand about dismissively. “No, I meant, how did you cope, being put in a sudden stressful situation with your abilities?”

It’s exactly at this moment you realise that the concern Tony has voiced should’ve been higher on your list of priorities, especially given your history. You think back to only a few months ago when the slightest hint of heightened emotion would send you spiralling, where you left a man in agony on the sidewalk for approaching you during a panic attack. Today could’ve been a repeat, especially given the fact it’s Bucky, and he’s the perfect catalyst for emotional outbreak. The combination of being startled and confused while being far too close to Bucky and his raging emotions, you could’ve opened yourself up to experiencing Bucky’s flashback which could’ve left you catatonic for all you know, and yet, it didn’t. 

You didn’t even pay mind to the colours radiating off Bucky. Of course you saw them, they were in abundance and hard to miss, but you saw right through them to put all your focus on Bucky. A flicker of pride warms your chest at this thought. You’re stronger now then you were, and this is the proof. It’s all well and fine to be able to control the colours in the calm environment of Bruce’s lab, but to keep them in check during a moment of panic and uncertainty? That’s something else entirely.

When you voice this to Tony, a slight smile works across his face and he gives a firm nod. 

“So the training with Wanda is working then, that’s good,” Tony murmurs, almost to himself, and that’s when a terrifying thought comes over you. 

“Wait.” You lurch upwards, eyes wide. “I could be considered a threat. I was an experiment of HYDRA, I left with abilities I didn’t know how to use and I was dangerous because of that. Did I… Was it the same for me? Either I came to you or got whisked away to some secure location to never be seen again?” 

The thought is so horrendous, you find it hard to breathe and Tony picks up on your panic immediately. His hand comes down to rest at the base of your neck, exposed with the way your head is bowed as you focus on breathing, and he squeezes gently. The warmth of his palm and the slight pressure is enough to break your thought pattern and when you dart your eyes to his face, you see the heavy line of worry pressed into his expression. 

“Alright kid, breathe,” he mutters. “That’s it, in and out.” Once you manage to get a handle on your breathing, Tony eases up but keeps his hand on your back and ducks his head to catch your eye. 

“I’m going to be honest with you, okay, because I’m trying out the honesty thing to see if that makes my life easier. Yes, you are considered a threat, but obviously not to the same extremes as Bucky. You haven’t killed anyone for a start, but you do have untrained abilities that left untouched or found in the wrong person, could be lethal. I don’t believe the government had plans to lock you away but I wasn’t about to find out which is why I was so insistent about you training with us. After every session you have with Wanda and with Bruce, a progress report is sent out to show that you are capable of controlling your abilities and that you remain of sound mind, that the level of threat you pose is next to nothing.”

“But it will never be enough, will it?” You sniff quietly, rubbing at the dampness of your cheeks with the back of your hand. “I thought I could learn to control my abilities and then head off home but… God, that was so stupid of me to think I had any say in this.” A sick lurching feeling in your gut has you closing your eyes, forcing more tears down your face. You almost want to be mad at Tony, for making you believe you still had choices, freedom, but you know deep down you’re only really mad at yourself for being so naive. 

Tony’s silence is almost too much to bear before he finally answers with, “I’m working on it.” 

You lift your head, throwing him a confused expression and he sighs. 

“It’s complicated and I’m doing my best to prove to the government that you’re not a threat, that you’re not worth keeping an eye on. Everybody in this Tower, who fights under the name Avengers is considered a threat on some level. Me, Cap, and Wanda especially. But it’s because of the Avengers that we have something in the way of freedom, it keeps us protected. It allows the government to keep an eye on us, but it’s controlled.”

“Which is why you want me to sign on with the Avengers,” you add, your voice flat.

Tony presses his lips together, nodding. “Yes. It’s the easiest way to give you a something in the way of a normal life. While you’ll be considered off-duty for the majority of the time, should something occur that requires the full efforts of the Avengers, you will be called in. But I know the last thing you want to do is fight so I promise you, I’m trying to find another way.”

You peer up at Tony then, tears already beginning to dry. “Why are you so invested? You don’t… have to do all this. You could just tell me what’s what and it’s not like I have a choice.”

Tony laughs then, short and sharp. “It’s that stupid heart we were talking about, remember? But also, it’s like you said, you didn’t have a choice. I chose to become Iron Man, just like Steve chose to take the super serum. You weren’t given a choice, you were taken and forced to become something else.”

“Just like Bucky,” you point out, quiet. Tony frowns. 

“I… yeah, just like Barnes.”

“I understand now how much you’ve done for him to keep him safe, but I still think he deserves a chance at more than just safety. I think he deserves to be happy, to not be afraid of himself all the time. The conditioning in Wakanda clearly worked and helped remove the effects of mind manipulation, but there’s still a soldier in there, and he’s never going to be able to have a normal life if he isn’t given the chance to assimilate with society.” 

Tony groans, falling back on the couch and holding his temples with a face that makes it seem like he’s in agony. “I think you’ve been hanging around Banner too long, with all your well-spoken arguments and taking a mile when you’ve barely been given an inch.” He pushes his hand flat against his face and spreads his fingers, peering out at you from between them. When he speaks again, his voice is muffled. “So, what do you suggest?”

“Wait - what - really?”

Dragging himself up into a sitting position, Tony nods. “I’m not saying I’m going to agree with anything you say, but I’m willing to listen. You make a good point and while I’m in no way forgetting the fact you went against me to sneak Bucky out, you didn’t work alone and it allowed for proof of where Barnes is at, mentally. So I’m asking you, where do we go from here?”

“Oh. Well. I mean, I have some ideas but I really think I should run them past Sam given he’s the expert on soldier rehabilitation. And of course, Bucky should be apart of this discussion. He’s had enough decisions made about him, I think it’s time he gets to make up his own mind. He just needs to know he’s allowed.” You look pointedly at Tony who half rolls his eyes through a nod. 

“Alright, alright. I’m going to follow your lead on this one kid, but from now on, we have an open line of communication, okay? Any ideas you get into that head of yours, I want to know about it and we’ll discuss it together. You, me, Sam, and... Bucky,” Tony says as he gets to his feet, looking down at you with one eyebrow raised. “Are we clear?”

“Yes sir!” You follow his lead, getting to your feet with a smile. Though your head aches from the intense emotions and the worries still milling around your head, to hear Tony say he’s willing to give Bucky a chance to try for normality means everything to you. “Thank you, Tony. Truly.”

“Mmhmm.” Tony nods, once more uncomfortable in the face of gratitude. “Well, I think that’s enough today. I’ll check in with Sam and get a full rundown from him as well and we’ll go from there. Keep up your training, okay?” As he’d spoken, he’d managed to inch his way to the door, his hand already on the handle as he turns to make his last point. 

“Uh, Tony? Aren’t you forgetting something?” You ask him sweetly. His forehead wrinkles and you can see him calculating in that never ending mind of his. Laughing, you reach out to tug at his sleeve and pull him away from the door. “That was quite the heart to heart we had, don’t you think? It deserves some sort of finale. And I really haven’t shown you enough gratitude, so here.”

Before Tony can react, you move forward and wrap your arms around his solid frame, not afraid to squeeze tight. His whole body is rigid, clearly not expecting the sudden display of affection, but within moments you feel the tension begin to leave his body, making you smile. Then his own arms come up to circle you. Though slightly stiff and awkward, it’s more than you’d expected. You can’t be entirely sure, but you’re almost certain you feel his face move into a smile and so you squeeze him a little bit tighter. Eventually, the moment passes, and Tony pats your back as he carefully pulls himself out of the hug. You almost want to laugh at how ruffled he looks by the whole thing but you merely smile. 

“Err, thanks,” Tony says after a moment. “Let’s not do that again too soon, but thank you.”

You give an easy laugh as you know his words are all for show. “I’ll see you soon, Tony,” you tell him, waving as he nods and heads out of your apartment.

The moment the door shuts, you feel exhaustion slam into you. It’s been a day, full of intense emotions, and leaving you with a lot to think about. You head back to the couch, in need of a lie down and some quiet. 

It’s only when you hear FRIDAY announce that Bucky is at your door that you realise you’ve managed to nod off. There’s still light outside but it’s fading into the evening dusk, leaving your apartment to be consumed by the growing dim. You sit up, stifling a yawn and rubbing at your eyes to rouse yourself before asking FRIDAY to let Bucky in and turn on some lights.

You’re still blinking furiously to to get your eyes to adjust to the sudden change in lighting when Bucky enters the room. It takes a moment but once you can finally see, you find him standing in front of you wearing the slightest hint of a smile. He has showered and changed since you last saw him, back in his usual outfit of sweatpants and a shirt, with his wet hair tied back off his face. When he moves to take a seat beside you, it’s without those stiff, practiced motions you’d become used to, and he sits back against the couch with comfortable familiarity. Having him so close only establishes you earlier thoughts in the elevator, that there is something different about him since this morning. The tension he carries in his shoulders is far less and there’s light behind his eyes that had been vacant before. 

“Thought I’d come see how much trouble you’re in,” he says in greeting, the line between his eyebrows betraying the quiet concern that sits behind his easy tone, “but I suppose if you’re napping, it can’t be all bad.” He gives you a small smile then, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and you’re stuck between wanting to play ignorant to everything you’ve been told to keep this easy-going Bucky, or to tell him the truth.

“Yeah, something like that,” you murmur, half-distracted by the soft light outlining his frame and the clean, woodsy scent he carries with him. You could lie, tell him that Tony had yelled and made you promise to never go against his word again, but that’s not fair on Tony, Bucky, or even yourself. You need to be honest with Bucky about what you know, it’s the least you can do. 

Bucky frowns. “Hey,” he says, voice soft as he leans in to try catch your eye. “What happened? What did Stark do?”

You attempt an easy smile, shaking your head. “Tony didn’t do anything. We had a big discussion about a lot of things,” you begin, picking your words as carefully as you can. You know you have to be honest but figuring out the best way to explain exactly what was said between you and Tony without pushing Bucky into spiralling panic is harder than you thought. 

It turns out, you manage to do just that without even trying. During your silence as you try to best piece your words together, Bucky’s smile fades and his eyebrows dip together as he considers your expression. You can see him mentally calculating what this means for him and you want to speak, to soothe things before his mind gets away from him but you can see it already has, you’re too late. A haunted expression takes over Bucky, his eyes becoming large and horrified as he slowly drags his gaze up to your face. The self-hatred and fear evident in his expression is enough to leave you feeling cold and you would give anything to never have to see him so broken again. Words suddenly desert you and everything you want to say to reassure him vanishes at the sight of the horrified look in his eyes. 

When Bucky speaks, his voice is flat. “You know,” he grounds out, pained. “About the Starks. About what I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LET TONY BE HUGGED A LOT 2K18. 
> 
> okay i know this is a pretty hefty chapter but it's necessary! tony needs to learn you a thing so the story can continue and so the next chapter can be a thing (and let me tell you, the next chapter is my favourite so far!).
> 
> thank you for reading! ♡


	21. twenty one.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you and bucky choose to be honest with each other and it makes all the difference.

> "Yours was the first face that I saw,  
>  I think I was blind before I met you.  
>  I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been  
>  but I know where I want to go.  
>  And so I'd thought I'd let you know,  
>  that these things take forever, I especially am slow,  
>  but I realized that I need you  
>  and I wondered if I could come home."  
>  first day of my life // bright eyes

Bucky’s face has completely shut down as the tension in the room becomes overwhelming and you know before Bucky even moves that he’s going to run. The movements are sudden, the way he twists and lurches to his feet to stride for the door, but you’re ready for it, jumping up and moving with him. As he reaches for the door, you reach for him and manage to get both hands around the thick metal of his wrist, tugging him back. 

He immediately goes still. Rather than turn to you, he merely drops his head and gently pulls his arm back to his side. You don’t let him go, letting him pull you to him instead while tightening your grip. There’s no doubt that he could shake you off with ease but he doesn’t, and that gives you hope. 

“Bucky, you told me you weren’t going to disappear,” you remind him gently. 

He studies the hardwood floor as the muscle in his jaw grows tight and says nothing. 

“We’re well past this, you said so yourself,” you continue. You keep your fingers curled around the metal appendage while moving around Bucky to stand in front of him, willing him to look up at you. “So stay. Let’s talk about this, please.”

“S’nothing to talk about,” Bucky says finally. He lifts his head but only enough to gaze down at where your fingers rest against his metal arm, his eyes narrowing at the sight. “I tried to tell you,” he whispers half a beat later. “To make you understand what I’ve done, what I am, but I didn’t try hard enough. I’m sorry. I wanted… I thought that I could…”

“You thought what, Bucky?” You press, stepping closer.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says quickly, pulling himself together and then a step back from you. His arm almost slips from your grasp but you rush to adjust your grip, not willing to let him go so easy. He gets caught up in the sight of your human hands around his metal arm and you can see the repulsion in his expression. “Please,” Bucky murmurs, his voice so low and desperate. 

“You always hide this arm from me, from everyone, if you can help it,” you say suddenly, almost conversationally as you too look down at your fingers anchored against his arm. Carefully, you move his arm so the metallic palm faces upwards, keeping one hand locked around his wrist to keep it steady while using the index finger of your other hand to trace over the lines where the plates overlap. “I’ve noticed you do it since we first met. You hate for it to be touched, hate for it to be seen.” You look up at him then, earnest, and find that he’s looking back at you with startled eyes. “I’m not afraid of it. Not even a little, and I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be,” Bucky grounds out, not for the first time, as his metal fingers twitch in response to your touch. “I hate this arm. I fuckin’ hate it because every time I look at it, all I can see is the fingers around the throats of people who didn’t deserve to die. Or maybe they did, I don’t know, but I know I didn’t have a right to kill them. Their lives were not mine to take but I took them anyway. I took hundreds and this arm is a reminder of that, a reminder of all the horrible, disgusting things I did. The acts of a monster.” He spits the words out with an intensity you hadn’t witnessed in Bucky before, but it doesn’t scare you in the slightest. His anger is contained only to himself and you can’t decide if that’s for better or worse. He swallows roughly, then shakes his head with a mirthless laugh. “It’s not even the same arm, is the thing. They gave me a new one in Wakanda but it doesn’t matter because it’s always going to stand for what HYDRA did to me. They tore me apart to put me back together as a weapon and they started with this goddamn arm.”

For a moment, you say nothing, letting your fingers continue to explore the intricate design of his arm. He doesn’t try to pull away again, merely watches through heavy breathing as your fingertips trail from the tips of his fingers, over each joint and over his palm, circling the heel of his hand and then up his wrist. The metal is cool beneath your touch but it shifts, not unlike a flesh arm would in response to stimulus. The arm isn’t just a placeholder or a machine designed only to destroy, it’s a part of Bucky, no matter how he feels about it, and it’s linked to nervous system all the same. Finally, you take Bucky’s arm in both your hands once more, closing his fingers into a loose fist before bringing it up to your lips. 

It’s the most delicate kiss, nothing more than a brush of your lips against the cool plates of his knuckles, but it’s enough to have Bucky letting out a gush of air like he’d been sucker punched. He no longer looks angry or frightened but somewhere between confused and intrigued. 

“I don’t hate this arm,” you say, keeping it tucked tightly between your hands. “This arm is really good at throwing Frisbees and surprisingly comfortable to fall asleep against. It may have been used for something different in the past, but now you get to decide what you use it for. Whether it be untwisting those really hard to open jar lids, or lifting up little old ladies in the supermarket so they can reach the top shelf.” Bucky’s eyebrows dip at this and you give a little laugh. “My point being, this arm is a part of you and while the history behind it sucks, in time you can change the way you feel about it. Make new memories, have different, better experiences with it. I’m not saying you’ll forget those things you’ve done but one day, they won’t sit at the forefront of your mind constantly.”

“I think it’s worth repeating this, and I say it in complete honesty,” you continue, letting yourself take a step towards Bucky. This time, he stands still and lets you come close. “I’m not afraid of you, Bucky. Hearing the circumstances of the Starks death, the things HYDRA had you do, they don’t make me scared of you. I feel anger, yes, that you were forced beyond your will to commit such horrific acts, and sadness too, that you’ll never be completely free nor get back what they took from you, but never any fear.” After a moment’s pause, you offer up a shy smile and give a little shrug. “I know you won’t believe me but you’re, ah, you’re actually my safe place. So much has happened over the last few months and my whole world has changed and sometimes I feel so trapped but then you appear and I feel… like I can breathe again. I feel better when you’re around, Bucky.”

The words fall like heavy stones between you and while your heart is panicking inside your chest, you make yourself hold his gaze so he can search your face and realise the words you’re offering him are the most honest, vulnerable ones you can give. His eyes are wide as he stares back at you, almost in wonder and then he’s taking half a step forward so that your bodies are only a hairsbreadth apart from each other. He exhales slowly and you feel his breath warm your cheek and then he’s raising his flesh hand to tuck a stray piece of hair that had fallen to frame your face behind your ear. Rather than lower his hand, Bucky gently slides it down to rest against the curve of your neck, his thumb stroking softly against the exposed ridge of your collarbone. That wonder stills remains in his eyes, accompanied by unmistakable longing, and he watches his thumb move across your skin with a hunger, like he can’t believe he’s being allowed this but he’s certain it will be taken from him before long. 

His hand curls to cradle the back of your neck and then he’s bringing you to him, resting his cheek against your hair and letting out a shaky breath. You go to him with no resistance, pressing your face to his shoulder and feeling the rigid line where metal meets flesh beneath you cheek. Warmth radiates from him and you want to curl into him, to disappear if only for a moment, because this is the safest you’ve felt in a very long time. 

“I wish we could have met when I was good,” Bucky admits into the quiet, pressing you closer to him so you can feel his words echo through you. There’s a wistfulness in his voice so strong, so desperate, it pains you to hear it and you shake your head against his shoulder. “If only you could have had me when I was whole, sweetheart,” he continues, a shuddering breath following along behind his admission.

“I don’t wish for that because I don’t want that Bucky,” you mumble into the fabric of his shirt. “I don’t know him. I like this one, the you I have now. Who is good, even if he doesn’t see it, and who fights every damn day to be better.”

A rough chuckle rumbles through Bucky’s chest, a sound of quiet amusement that’s tinged with something close to sadness. “This is why I’ve never been able to keep myself away from you, right from the beginning, even when I should’ve known better. The thing is, the Bucky Barnes that fell off the train in 1945 is dead. That’s not me, I’m just what’s left. But when Steve looks at me, he sees a guy I don’t remember how to be. I know Steve wants me to be him again, he misses that Bucky from his childhood, but I can’t be that. And everybody else in this tower… They see me as someone who I want to forget I ever was. But you,” Bucky’s voice grows warm. “You look at me and it’s nothing like that. It’s like you see someone who… who maybe I could be. Someone who I want to be.”

“I see you exactly as you are, Bucky Barnes,” you tell him firmly. “Which means you are already well on your way to being that someone. In time, everybody else will see you too. Steve included. You’ve both changed in extreme ways since your youth, I think you simply need the chance to learn each other over again.”

Bucky pulls back enough so that he can see your face, his flesh hand coming up to settle against your cheek. “There’s so much I want to say to ya doll, but I don’t know how.” He sighs then, a soft laugh following after it. “If only I could be the old Bucky again, just for a moment. He could’ve charmed the pants off ya.” 

You bite down on a smile and think how it really wouldn’t take much, he already has you. Instead, you ask, “And how did the old Bucky get himself a dame?”

“He was pretty decent at dancing,” Bucky offers, a small smile appearing at the memory. 

“Is that so? How about you give it a try now?”

Bucky halts, nervousness working into his features. “There’s no music and I… don’t know how much I remember. I don’t think I’ll be any good.”

“Then that will make two of us,” you say easily, twisting your fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt just above his hips to jostle him playfully. “Come on, what was your favourite song to dance to all those years ago? Do you remember?”

Bucky goes silent for a moment, thinking hard, before he nods. “FRIDAY? Play ‘For All We Know’, please?”

FRIDAY’s voice gave a smooth affirmative before the music began to play through the speakers. The quality is somewhat crackly, a testament to the age of the song, but it has this beautiful, almost dreamy sound to it like something straight out of the black and white films your mother would watch. 

“ _For all we know, we may never meet again…_ ” the singer begins to croon, an understanding of both hope and loss so pronounced in his voice, while Bucky carefully takes your hand in his metal one, placing them both over his heart before slipping his flesh arm around your waist to pull you close. 

Slow dancing had become somewhat of an outdated practice in your mind, it’s not something that had been offered to you as an extracurricular growing up. You’d never once come into a situation where it had been asked of you except perhaps an uncle’s wedding once when you were too young to do more than enjoy being twirled around the dance floor but Bucky is more than happy to take the lead. 

Your other arm slides over Bucky’s shoulder with your hand coming to rest at the back of his neck, his skin warm against your skin. The two of you are positioned more like an embrace than anything else but you don’t mind, easily moulding yourself against his front as he presses his check to your hair and begins to sway you in small circles. Bucky’s heartbeat is a comforting tempo from beneath your intertwined hands, unlike your own which flutters with little rhythm when Bucky begins to sing along under his breath. His lips move against your ear, his voice rough but with melody, and you have no option but to melt a little further into his arms. 

The orchestra begins a mild crescendo and Bucky takes it upon himself to move you in gentle box steps. Your movements are far clumsier than his but he holds you close so it does little to throw off the rhythm and he starts to lead you around the living room. His metal fingers, that had been pressed lightly atop of yours over his chest, twist around your hand to intertwine with your fingers and he extends both your arms before releasing you just enough to spin you in time with the music. You give a surprised laugh, grinning as he anchors you back to him and there’s a real, proper smile on his face that damn near knocks the breath out of you given how handsome he looks in this moment. He looks almost unreal, his eyes a deep, warm blue, his teeth on show as the corner of his eyes crinkle up and he seems younger somehow, and far happier than you’ve ever seen him let himself be. 

The music begins to slow as Bucky holds you close again and you find yourself wishing the song never comes to an end. When it does, neither of you are ready to let go and so Bucky keeps you in his arms, looking down at you an expression that speaks of hope and want, one that you are almost certain matches your own.

“Consider me charmed,” you whisper breathlessly. 

When Bucky lets out a quiet laugh, so genuine and fond, you feel your heart constrict in your chest at the mere sight of him. But it’s nothing compared to what your heart does when he angles his head down towards yours, his nose bumping against yours almost playfully as he keeps looking at you with those intense eyes. His hands hold you with purpose, both gentle and firm as though you’re something so precious he wouldn’t dare let you go so soon. 

A breathe passes between you and then finally, finally, he closes the space to press his lips against yours in the sweetest kiss, a kiss that spoke of all the emotions too large to be put into words, and you feel it in every part of your body as you push forward to kiss him in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a long time coming, lads! the slow dance was one of the very first scenes i had planned for this story and i was very excited to write it. 
> 
> 'for all we know' has been covered by many different artists and the version bucky remembers from his pre-war days would've been an earlier version, but [this is the version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_C6YrHDY9ZQ) i imagined for that scene as it seemed to best fit the tone.
> 
> thanks for reading! ♡


	22. twenty two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you and steve have a heart to heart, bucky is acting a little shady but not as shady as the entire avengers compound, and bruce is a bad liar.

> "Hold on, what's the rush, what's the rush we're not done are we?  
>  'Cause I don't need to change this atmosphere we've made if  
>  you can stay one more hour, can you stay one more hour?  
>  You know I'm gonna find a way to let you have your way with me  
>  you know I'm gonna find a time to catch your hand and make you stay."  
>  **find a way // safetysuit**

It’s that time of the morning in the Avengers Tower where everybody is up, even those that normally prefer to sleep in, and there’s that familiar hum of activity that pulses through the building to signify this. While it’s normal for the tower to be busy, full of superheroes and surveillance and weapon testing and mission planning, you’d noticed over the last few days that the tower seemed more engaged than normal. Every time you made your way into Bruce’s lab, he’d had his eyes glued to his laptop and only looked up to offer you quick, apologetic smiles before returning to his work, and Wanda had rescheduled your training three times now with reasons she couldn’t disclose. Sam and Steve seemed to constantly be in meetings or taking day trips out in the quinjet, meaning you hadn’t had to suffer through their workout routines for nearly a week now. Surprisingly, you kind of missed it. 

Running laps and forcing yourself through burpees is a lot less fun without the boys to verbally spar with and when you pointed this out, both Sam and Steve had smiled and promised they’d be back to torturing you in no time. When you tried to press the subject, your curiosity roused at the sudden secrecy, Steve had given you an apologetic look and explained how it’s confidential. Sam had nodded agreeably, chiming in to mention it was ‘Avengers stuff’ and laughing when you made a face in annoyance. 

This morning however, you’ve skipped the gym all together, deciding it’s well past time that you sit down and catch up with all your coursework that’s been building up. Winter break is fast approaching so there isn’t a huge amount left on your plate for the semester outside of a few essays and an online test, but you are meant to be keeping on top of things. However, your commitment to study pales in comparison to your commitment to figuring out what has everybody so occupied. Rather than study in the quiet of your apartment, you have your laptop set up at the table in the communal kitchen on the off chance somebody mentions something that might help the pieces fall together.

You’ve already asked Bucky, figuring he would have a better idea but he merely frowned and shook his head. He’d noticed the change too, especially in Steve and Sam, but you were both on the outside of it given neither of you were technically on the team. A warmth runs through you at the thought of Bucky and your mind instantly wanders from the half written essay in front of you to the memory of how you were woken up this morning. It may have been earlier than you like, but you’re hardly going to complain when you wake to the feel of Bucky warm and heavy against your back with his lips pressing gentle kisses to the bare skin of your shoulder. When you had no longer been able to control your breathing, alerting Bucky to the fact that you were awake, he’d seemed almost shy about it despite it having been less than a week since your first kiss. Sure, you hadn’t gone further than long, languid moments of kissing, quite content to discover each other slowly and surely, but there’s a fire burning that’s only getting more intense with each passing day. 

Maybe it’s merely the result of two touch-starved people finally allowing each other to come close but you’re almost certain there’s more to it than the basic allure of physicality that’s leaving you both desperate and wanting. 

“That must be one spectacular essay,” Steve’s voice cuts through your thoughts, his tone heavy with amusement from where he stands looking over your shoulder. “You’re smiling at it like it showed up outside your bedroom window with a boombox in a declaration of love.”

You don’t even have a chance to feel embarrassed about the state Steve caught you in or to be thankful once more for the fact that super soldiers can’t read minds. The shock of Steve making semi-modern references leaves you no other choice but to stare at him with your jaw unhinged. 

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m catching up with the world of pop culture, slowly but surely.”

“Well, you seem to have the 80s down. Just three more decades to go,” you commend him, pushing down your laptop lid before twisting in your seat to watch as Steve returns to the kitchen to start rummaging through the fridge. “So no super secret quinjet missions today, then?”

Quirking an eye at you, he dumps a large spoonful of protein powder into a blender. “Maybe, maybe not, couldn’t tell you either way,” he says simply, before grabbing a banana from the large fruit bowl at the end of the counter to peel and throw into the mix. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

After making a face at Steve’s unsatisfactory answer, you shake your head. “No but I’ve had two cups of tea, so I’m not completely failing at being an adult today.”

Steve’s frown tells you he strongly disagrees. “How about a smoothie? Good brain food and all that.”

“Hmm, twist my arm, why don’t you. Go on then. Is this second breakfast for you?”

“Uh, more like third,” Steve admits. “No, wait, we’ll say it’s morning tea!”

You roll your eyes. “Sure, whatever you say, big guy. Could you put cinnamon in mine, please?”

Sitting in the Avengers Tower watching Captain America putter around the kitchen while making you a smoothie seems beyond the realm of normal and something you had never once thought would become a reality, and yet it feels like second nature now. You’re not sure when the Tower had begun to feel less like necessary confinement and more like something of a home to you but it takes you a little off guard when you think of how much has changed in such a small amount of time. Perhaps it isn’t only external changes you have to thank for this shift in perception, but internal changes too that are making all the difference. 

The heavy sound of a full glass being pushed in front of you breaks your concentration before you can lose yourself in any deep thought and you gaze at the thick, purple smoothie in front of you then up to Steve’s friendly smile. 

“Thank you kindly,” you say, picking up the condensated glass and taking a sip, making a noise of approval at the drink. “Who would have thought, Captain America is a class act in smoothie making?”

Steve looks oddly pleased with the praise, but shrugs it off playfully. “What can I say, I’m a man of many talents,” he answers, cleaning out the blender before beginning the process again to make his own. His eyes keep flicking back to you as you continue to enjoy your smoothie, enough times that when you catch him doing it a fourth time, you raise an eyebrow which breaks him immediately. He tosses a handful of blueberries into the blender then sighs, looking up at you with an awkward smile. “It’s occurred to me that - well, actually, I realised today that I owe you an apology.”

Now this, you hadn’t been expecting. You can’t even imagine what could have happened for Steve to think he owes you anything, especially an apology, and you try to convey that in your expression. 

“What on earth for? If this is about you tormenting me during my gym sessions, it’s fine, I’m not about to report you for workplace harassment. It’s motivating in a weird, probably unhealthy way.”

Steve’s lips twitch at this, eyes bright with mirth, before he shakes his head. “No, it’s not about that.” He pauses, considering his words. “Seeing the changes in Bucky since that day in the park has made me realise that I’ve been so… careful when it comes to Bucky’s recovery. I didn’t want anything to set him off or make him regress because I so desperately wanted him to get better that I didn’t realise I was actually hindering him. I got even more nervous when you arrived because you seemed so eager to encourage Bucky out of his routine and I became so afraid of losing him should something go wrong that I guess I… lost sight of what’s important. Bucky’s recovery is his journey and it’s something that’s only going to happen if we take the steps to help and support him in coming back to himself, not by trying to swaddle him in bubble wrap. You already know all that, obviously, and I really just want to thank you for being there for him in ways I haven’t been, in ways I can’t, and apologise for not trusting you sooner.”

The sudden declaration is so heartfelt and genuine with Steve’s eyes looking imploringly back at you that you clear your throat loudly, looking down to fiddle with your smoothie glass for a moment purely to get your emotions in check and blink back the sudden tears swelling in your eyes. After a moment, you brave glancing up at Steve again and offer him a smile. 

“Thank you, Steve, I really appreciate you saying that. But I don’t think your caution is a bad thing, not by a long shot. Bucky’s already doing so well and I want him to keep getting better but I’m aware that my excitement may lead to me pushing him too quickly. And now that I know there’s a chance we could lose him if something goes wrong…” You shake your head, refusing to give that thought purchase. “I think it’s good that we balance each other out and with Sam’s expertise on our side, we can be the support Bucky needs, you know?”

Steve nods, his eyes brightening. “There’s already a change in him, have you noticed? Even after the frisbee incident, when he and I were heading to our apartments, he seemed… excited for the future. It’s the first time I’ve seen him talk about his recovery and actually vocalise his intent to get better. It’s huge and it’s incredible. He’s even… Well, in the last few days I think we’ve talked more honestly than we ever have and it’s made me realise something I should’ve seen from the beginning.”

“Oh?” You ask, tilting your head. “What’s that?”

With a slow exhale, Steve ducks his head, like it almost pains him to say it out loud. When he looks up again, he meets your eye with a shaky grin that’s both self-deprecating and nervous. “Getting Bucky back is one of the few good things that’s happened to me since I woke up in this new life. It felt too good to be true and I figured even though we’d been through so much, if we could just have some time, we could go back to who we were before this whole mess. I know I asked a lot of Bucky, I looked at him and saw the boy from my childhood, my best friend before he went off to war. And as ridiculous as it sounds, I imagined us slipping into that relationship as easy as anything, like nothing had changed because I was so nostalgic and desperate for that time in my life. And because I love Bucky, he’s my family. But things have changed, he’s changed and… so have I. It was something Bucky said, actually, that made me realise all this. He pointed out that we’ve both gone through so much insanity, in completely different ways, that neither of us are who were were before that war that split us up. And now that we have time, we have to learn each other all over again.”

A faint smile tugs at your lips, both in pride for Bucky opening himself up to Steve and Steve for listening, and a slight jolt of affection at hearing your words repeated back to you. It’s a sign that what Steve is saying is true, that what you’re doing and what you’re saying is helping Bucky in some way.

“That’s not to make it sound like a chore,” Steve continues, “because it’s not, it’s a privilege. We are luckier than most, in some ways. Despite everything, we get to have each other in the end and that’s something to be grateful for. Bucky’s really trying to open up. We’re talking and we’re learning and I think I have you to thank for some of that.”

You shake your head quickly. “I think you give me far too much credit. It’s all Bucky.”

Steve grins at you, and it’s a proper, mischievous grin that makes his eyes shine. “You say that like I don’t get to witness the dopey look he gets on his face when he talks about you or know that you two spend more time together than with anyone else. Say what you like but you’re definitely a factor in all this.”

A cough startles out of you and your cheeks turn pink. You’re suddenly concerned as to how much Steve knows and whether Bucky’s newfound love of talking might not bode well for the rumour mill in the Tower. Steve just smiles to himself, uncapping the jar of peanut butter and heaping a healthy spoonful into the blender in a somewhat smug manner. 

When you manage to contain yourself and can breathe normally again, you clear your throat and will the redness in your cheeks to fade as you open up your laptop again. “Speaking of Bucky’s recovery,” you say, a terrible attempt to divert Steve’s attention, “would you like to see what Sam and I have been researching?”

This piques Steve’s interest and with his own smoothie forgotten, he moves around the counter to stand behind you and peer over your shoulder. You minimise your essay and reveal the multitude of research tabs you have open along with an accompanying document that has detailed notes and annotations as well as possible candidates. Steve reads over the work with quiet intensity before finally drawing back and giving a considering hum. 

“What does Sam think about all this? I assume he approves if you’ve gone to this much effort. This seems like Tony levels of preparation.”

Through a huff of amusement, you nod. “That’s because it is. Sam says he’s seen it work wonders in a lot of returning servicemen. Obviously, it’s not for everyone but he reckons it’s worth a try. It’s just a matter of getting it past Tony and then of course, it’s up to Bucky whether he thinks this is something he wants to try.” You frown then, shifting in your seat. “It does feel a little wrong to talk about this with everyone but Bucky. It’s just that if this is something he wants, I don’t want to get his hopes up if Tony doesn’t allow it, you know? And I can’t go against Tony, not again.”

“That phrase must be music to Tony’s ears,” Steve says, his tone playfully but there’s a wistful look to his eye that doesn’t go unnoticed. He nudges your shoulder gently. “His favourite music, a genre that he doesn’t get to hear often. But don’t worry, you’re not going behind Bucky’s back by doing all this. Like you said, he gets final say and if he doesn’t want to do it, then that’s that. You’re simply presenting him an option, is all.”

“I guess so,” you say after a moment, slowly nodding as you mull it over. “I just hope it’s something that will help. I also wish I was as this dedicated to my remaining assignments as I am to this research,” you admit with a grimace. 

Steve laughs and points to your smoothie. “Drink up kiddo, it will help.”

You make a face at this but can’t fight off a smile as you do as you’re told, even going so far as to bring up your essay once more as motivation swells in you to try complete it. Steve continues to throw his smoothie together as quietly as he can before washing up after himself. He’s about to leave, having noticed that you’ve grown absorbed in your work, when Bucky appears in the doorway. 

“Buck, hey,” Steve says, holding up his smoothie in greeting and immediately distracting you from your essay as you look over to where Bucky has stopped at the entrance of the kitchen, a small smile on his face. 

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs in response, his eyes moving from Steve to you and there’s an intensity that appears when he meets your eye that burns a fire through you. It seems absurd that a kiss could cause such a shift in your relationship but here you are, suddenly overcome with a desire for closeness, a need to reach out to Bucky just to feel him near you. You can feel your face flush, glad that Steve is more occupied with Bucky than looking at you because you’re certain if he is to glance back at you, he’d find your thoughts broadcasted all over your face. The thought that you’re not alone in this feeling, that the same need burns in Bucky’s eyes, is the only thing that keeps embarrassment from flooding through you entirely. 

Steve’s talking again, you realise after a moment, and it tears Bucky’s gaze from you which gives you a moment to collect yourself, to breathe. You’re certain that it’s a common subject in the Avengers Tower, the relationship between you and Bucky and what the definition is exactly, but that was before there was anything to be right about. You don’t exactly want to confirm everyone’s thoughts by throwing yourself at Bucky every time you see him, but you don’t think you can go back to keeping your distance purely to save face. But how would the two of you act around each other now, in the presence of your friends? You couldn’t carry on like a blushing school girl every time you saw him, that’s for sure.

Bucky and Steve are discussing a training regiment they plan to do together, which makes sense given they’re the only two in the entire tower that are equally matched in strength and stamina, and from the way Bucky stands as he talks, with his shoulders lose and his face at ease, you realise that Steve is right. This is a different Bucky from the one you first met, one no longer trapped by his own fear, and your heart beats a little quicker at the thought of Bucky regaining himself once more, little by little. 

“Alright, well I’ll meet you down in the gym,” Steve says, his voice breaking through your thoughts as he moves past Bucky before turning back, pointing at him with his smoothie. “Don’t be too long, she has an essay to write and you can’t be distracting her,” Steve says, his tone an attempt to be fatherly despite the amusement in his voice. “I’ll leave you two alone,” he finishes with a pointed look, his grin too wide to be anything close to innocent before he makes his exit. 

“Punk,” Bucky mutters at Steve’s retreating back, only for Steve to respond with “jerk!” from halfway down the hall which leaves Bucky smiling. You don’t miss the way he scans the room before he moves to you, coming to stand behind you. His hand, hesitant and almost questioning, comes to settle on your shoulder, his fingertips slipping just underneath the collar of your shirt to press against your skin. It’s such an innocent touch and yet it’s charged with something you can’t put into words. You move back instinctively, leaning into his solid presence with a soft sigh. 

“Hey you,” he says quietly, the warmth in his tone enough to send electricity down your spine. 

“Hey yourself,” you whisper back, tipping your head upwards to catch a glimpse of his face as he smiles down at you. “What’s the reason for this little visit?” It has only been three hours since you woke up tangled together in the same bed and yet the sight of him had you feeling as though it had been forever since you’d been together. This hunger in you is so new, so frightening, and clearly had been simmering in the basement of yourself for the longest time before being allowed to come to life. 

“Just wanted to see you,” Bucky answers, his tone light but the implication is there, the need to know you feel the same there in his words, quiet but insistent like a child tugging on a parent’s sleeve. _Do you feel it too? This need to be together, in anyway we can? Does it consume you like it’s consuming me?_

He rests his chin against the top of your head, his flesh arm sliding down from where it had cradled your shoulder to snake around your waist and hold you against him. You let your eyes fall closed, happy just to be held, feeling overwhelmed in the knowledge that this comes from Bucky’s will to initiate contact. All it had taken was one act, one first kiss, to start all this and open the floodgates to Bucky’s affection and now he can barely contain himself. Personal space is becoming a thing of the past in his need to be touching you in whatever way he can, and you are certainly not going to be the one to complain. He lifts his chin from your head to place a gentle kiss to your hair, humming to himself. 

“I know the feeling,” you tell him, your eyes still closed, as you focus on the steady thump of his heartbeat behind your ears. His body shifts then, a sudden tension that hadn’t been present, and before you can register the loss of his body around yours, he’s retracting his arm and pushing you back into a sitting position before stepping away from you. 

You frown at the sudden change before Bruce shuffles into the room in a flurry of textbooks and papers and quiet mutterings as he tries to rummage through the leather satchel hanging from his shoulder. He hasn’t noticed either of you at this point and Bucky uses this to his advantage, moving so that the kitchen counter is now between you. When Bruce finally looks up, his eyes flick from you to Bucky and he offers a quick, unassuming smile.

“Dr. Banner,” Bucky greets with a nod, before slipping around Bruce and out of the room before either of you can say anything. 

Bruce nods in response, despite the fact Bucky is gone before he sees it, and then he moves to dump his stuff on the counter opposite to where you’re sitting. He looks mildly harassed, which isn’t entirely uncommon for Bruce, but there’s a deep concern in his eyes as though his mind is miles away. He tries to give you an easy smile, his eyebrow raising comically. 

“What’s the fire?” he asks, tilting his head in the direction where Bucky had disappeared moments before. He doesn’t sound suspicious or even teasing, mainly just interested in what it is about himself that had Bucky fleeing. “I know he likes to keep to himself but that’s next level avoidance.”

You huff a laugh, trying not to appear more concerned with Bucky’s behaviour than you are but you know you’re going to be asking some questions the next time you see him. “I’m not sure. Perhaps he’s allergic to research papers,” you say, prodding at the pile that spill from Bruce’s satchel with a small smile. “What’s all this anyway? You seem a little… flustered.”

Bruce makes a face. “When am I not?” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, and your smile widens a little. At least he’s self-aware. Bruce collapses into one of the bar stools and rubs at his eyes from behind his glasses. “I’m leaving in half an hour for god knows how long and I’m supposed to be doing a last minute sweep of my lab to make sure I have everything but it’s stressing me out so I figured I’d take a walk.”

“How about a cup of tea?” You offer, and when Bruce shoots you a grateful smile, you jump to your feet and head into the kitchen to turn on the kettle, happy to be given something to do. Pulling out two mugs and the tea bags, you consider Bruce carefully. “So you’re heading off on a mission or another research project or…?” You keep your tone conversational, as though you’re asking out of politeness more than anything, and move your gaze to your task at hand. 

Bruce gives a quiet laugh. “Nice try but you know I can’t say anything.”

“Ugh,” you groan, giving Bruce a pained look. “It’s Avengers stuff, right?”

“Something like that,” Bruce agrees easily, frowning down at his phone when it beeps with a notification. His eyes scan over his screen, his forehead furrowing and his expression going pinched, before he shoves his phone away and tries to relax into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Everything okay?” You ask, filling up the mugs with hot water and setting them aside to brew.

Bruce shrugs. “Yes, of course,” he answers brightly, neither of you needing to point how false it sounds. “You’ve got one more session with Wanda right, before she heads out?”

“Yeah, we’re going to catch up tomorrow to do a bit of training before she also has to leave for reasons she won’t say. I’m assuming more Avengers stuff.”

Bruce ignores the edge to your voice, nodding. “I’ll get her to send me through the report on your progress so I can stay in the loop.”

“Bruce, is there something I should be worried about?” You ask plainly, deciding that of all the people in this tower to ask this question to, Bruce will be the most honest. If not in his words, then in his expressions because his poker face is rubbish. 

“No,” he says firmly, shaking his head. “It’s like you said, it’s just Avenger’s stuff. Everything’s fine.” 

You nod, dropping the subject as you finish off making the tea and slide Bruce’s mug towards him before cradling your own mug between your hands. Bruce continues to talk about your next session with Wanda as he rearranges the mess in his satchel to a somewhat more organised mess but you hardly hear anything he says. You’re too focused on the amber haloing Bruce’s figure, a colour that normally surrounded the man but not to this degree. It’s a vibrant, almost aggressive shade and it makes you shiver when you look directly at him. It’s the colour of anxiety and it tells you the one thing you need to know. 

Bruce is lying to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn, i love a domestic steve! but i don't love the tweet chris evans put up the other day, how DARE he attack my emotions like that. 
> 
> updates are a little slow i know, trying to get my life back together after travelling is time consuming but things are getting exciting and the need to write is alive and well within me!
> 
> as always, thank you for reading, you wonderful people! ♡

**Author's Note:**

> what am i doin'? what am i doin'? oh yeah, that's right, i'm doin' me
> 
> actually i'm writing a story in a fandom i've never written for, in second person which i never do, when i have plenty of other things i should be doing instead.
> 
> i'm a mess but w/e, i managed to write 15k of this fic within 2 days and i'm having fun, let me live
> 
> (also "noni" - get it? get it?? i can't do the y/n thing because it interrupts my flow so be cool but don't worry, it won't come up much)


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